


Asterisk: Destiny

by Falcadore



Series: Transformers: Alternators [2]
Category: Transformers Alternators, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:30:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 47,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3554423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falcadore/pseuds/Falcadore





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Headline (Newsy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newsy/gifts).



_"All agents and units, Control; projected minimum staff levels achieved. There will be some staff inside facility so be wary of what you allow them to see, otherwise rules of engagement as briefed. Units One through Three procede as planned."_

_"Control, Unit One, security has not deviated from schedule."_

_"Acknowledged Unit One. We are green at this time. Observe mission radio procedures from here. Godspeed."_

 

Verdana Chemicals P/L  
Indianapolis, Indiana  
Present Day

Daniel McLean loved working security. Ever since he was a kid he had loved the night hours. His parents used to despair trying to put him down when he was small. As a teeneager he stayed out all hours, and he loved nothing better than driving to the local lookout point, even when he didn't have female company. Now in his late twenties, he didn't care so much that he did not earn enough to save for a future, he was happy enough just to walk the perimeter during the night hours.

This year he had been working at a chemical plant, nothing particularly important, but some specific chemicals were made here that the military liked, so round the clock security was employed. McLean always applied for the nightshifts. Some thought he wanted the extra money, but he just prefered the working conditions.

"McLean you there?"

"Sure Hester, what can I do for you?"

"Three vehicles just pulling up at the gates. Can you join Finn, Franti and Seymour and check them out?"

"No probs Hester, be right on it." McLean started jogging towards the front of the plant. He liked to keep fit as well, not muscle-bulging fit, but nice fit. As he jogged underneath the pipework tunnel near the front of the plant where several iron pipes climbed up high overhead, creating an archway to allow the larger delivery trucks access to the site. Up ahead he could see what he though was a grey Scion van. There were some dancing red strobes, suggestion the presence of an emergency vehicle of some kind out of sight behind the Scion. He could see two of his three colleagues milling about around the Scion.

An exceedingly bright soundless light lit off and the one security officer visible, Franti, McLean decided collapsed. McLean grabbed his radio but found it awash with static. The Scion raced suddenly into through the open gates, a white and black Subaru Impreza following, with the overhead lightbar. McLean's right hand raced for his revolver that he had never previously fired other than on the range. The Scion seemed a lighter shade suddenly, picking up the highlights of a third yellow vehicle beyond the Subaru before the light went white and stabbed outwards.

When McLean awoke it was with not one but two splitting headaches and the Sun had risen into the mid morning sky. There was a splitting pain in the back of his head, presumably from where his head had slammed the bitumen driveway, and there was a painful ache behind his eyes. Stars wheeled around his vision and the world looked blanched and lacking in colour.

"McLean's awake." There were rushing footsteps.

"McLean?" This was the voice of Nick Hester, McLean's watch supervisor. "Easy son, you've had a bit of a tumble." McLean blinked against the light as he struggled to shift his head around, and realised he was tucked aboard a stretcher.

"Dan McLean? Special Agent Hutchence, FBI. We need to know what you saw last night." For the moment McLean ignored the 'suit'.

"Franti and Finn and..."

"They'll be fine." Hester looked warily towards the G-Man. "Just answer the Special Agent's questions."

"Mr. McLean?"

"There was a gray Scion, that's where the light came from, and a Subaru WRX with a light bar."

"A police light bar?"

"No, more like a fire car, all red. There was a third car. It was yellow and might have been low slung, but I can't tell you more than that."

"Anything else?" The Agent's voice was as blank as his outfit, he could have been interrogating a toaster. McLean however believed in his job and scoured his thought for any impressions and half remembered images.

"Just an impression but I thought I saw a young hot chick in swimsuit..."


	2. Insertion

_"Agent One, Control; report progress."_

_"Control, cognition hood is performing optimally. Unit One made successful rendezvous and penetration and is prepared for autonomous control."_

_"Acknowledged Agent One. All personnel, after this action we can no longer turn back, we commit to descent, we commit completely to the plan. Any final objections?"_

_"Very well, Agent One commit to descent. Prepare Unit One for communications blackout. Alert submersed salvage team against uncontrolled impact. Godspeed."_

 

North American Aerospace Defence Command Headquarters  
Cheyenne Mountain  
Nevada  
Six Months Earlier

"Colonel!" a voice crackled over the desk mounted speaker. Colonel Edmund Roth looked at the speaker with more than a vague hint of disgust. That speaker had come to symbolise his recent career downturn, and he learned to hate it with a passion. He pressed a button on the speaker, activating the return loop of the intercomm.

"Yes Sergeant?"

"Contact Colonel on a re-entry path."

"Ballistic?"

"No sir, appears to be orbital return."

"And it is not the Discovery?"

"NASA confirms Shuttle Discovery has not yet entered de-orbital flight path."

"All right, I'll issue an advisory bulletin, then join you."

"Very good sir." Roth released the speaker button and picked up a telephone handset, pushing a single red button on the hot key pad to the right of the handset.

"Air Force Space Command."

"This is Colonel Roth at NORAD get me General Samuels please."

"One moment." There was a clicking of handests and connections. One good thing about working in the military, there was no such thing as on hold music.

"Samuels."

"Sir, this is Colonel Roth at NORAD, we have an object on de-orbital flight path. NASA have confirmed it is not Shuttle Discovery."

"Is it a missile?"

"Highly unlikely sir. No launches were detected and the descent path is not ballistic."

"Change that unlikely to one hundred percent negative Colonel. Report any further information." Samuels signed off without even allowing time for an acknolwedgment.

"Yes sir. Good to see sir you have your finger right on the pulse sir." Fortunately for Roth's career prospects, the handset remained dead. Roth sighed and swung his plaster enshrouded left leg around from behind his desk, struggling awkwardly to his feet using a pair of crutches. Already borderline for age and for fitness for flight status, Roth had been forced to eject from his F-16 Fighting Falcon aggressor training fighter after being badly caught in the wash of another fighter during dogfighting training and he had simply run out of sky to save the jet. broken limbs were a routine outcome from ejections and parachute landings.

While the pilot healed he was sent to NORAD. Chances were better than average that he would not be returned to flight status. He hobbled out the door and down into the crew pits the stretched below before the massive missile tracking screens overhead.

"Here sir." The Air Force Staff Sergeant indicated at his VDU when Roth arrived. One orbital track appeared, indicating the unknown objects blazing path it was cutting across the sky as it fell at thousands of miles an hour.

"Of concern sir, is firstly the objects size, and secondly its path is not decaying, but maintaining a steep, but otherwise controlled orbital descent. The size is massive, I don't understand why we did not pick it up while it approached. It's the size of a missile cruiser."

"Controlled?"

"Yes sir. Definately Sir." Roth picked up the handset mounted beside the Sergeant. He had read the protocals about this sort of procedure out of curiosity. He should defer the decision to one of the NORAD regular officers, but Roth disliked indecision. He pressed a green button beside the handset, looked once into the Sergeants eyes then announced clearly;

"Fallen Angel, Fallen Angel."

Having broken the proverbial safety glass, Roth had a list of phonecalls to make now. Space Command, Pentagon Watch Centre, NASA, and 'the Joes' were the numbers he had recognised. The last number on the list had been added in ink pen by hand, although the section commanders initals stood next to it. The number was, oddly for such a high security facility, an external number, and had a Nevada prefix, and he assumed the number belonged to one of the super secret facilities at Groom Lake. He paid no further attention until the number came up and a bored voice had responded with a two word response, before hanging up.

"OK, whatever."

 

Autobot Barracks  
Binaltech Facility, Nevada  
One Week Later

"I don't mean be troublesome, but we aren't as capable as we were in the good old days ya dig mon cherie?" Jazz effected a cheerful tone with his reply. It just seemed to antagonise the figure at the other end of the conference vid-screen. That figure shook her close cropped afro curled head. General Barbera had taken Command of the Joe's some years before, after Hawk's 'official' retirement.

"Nevertheless we'd feel more comfortable at the scene with some of our 'off-world' allies present." Barbera was the first woman to command the Joe's and it seemed like every day she had to prove herself to someone. So to everyone she dealt with she came across as hard as any military officer could be. Mostly it got the respect she was after. Mostly. Dealing with the Autobots was something Jazz knew she did not enjoy. Jazz tried to treat as few people as possible with respect if he took calls in the communications/conference hall. And Jazz knew he was the preferred of the two options. Standing behind Jazz while the Mazda lounged in the Autobot sized seat in front of the screen stood the one person on the planet who would never be intimidated, or even impressed by what a human could do.

The dull silver figure stood looking down at the monitor from behind crossed arms, an impassive dull gold mask, and masked visored eyes, his weapons holsterred prominently at each hip, the very image of indomitable might.

"Autobots good, but not walk water lately. How Me Grimlock cross great puddle to care less mystery fallen rock?" Barbera looked like she could not decide which of the two aliens exasperated her more.

"You'll proceed to the US Naval base at Sasusalito where the Navy will take care of your transportation out to the site of the crash. From there you'll help investigate the spaceship. Or meteorite."

"Navy boats slow. Me Grimlock not want spend long time tucked in weakling car mode. How many 'bots you want?"

"The Navy believes they can handle four of you once at sea."

"Me Grimlock pick team Jazz can lead and drive to boat park."

"Oh thanks Grimlock, a week spent tucked into my car mode, I'll have stiff joints for a month."

"If it stop soldier-human bleating you spend two weeks as weakling car."

"That's what I love about you Grimms-baby, so willing to care for your fellow bot and provide solace in their time of great need. You think you could find him a hobby to mellow him out some General? Or even a date?" Barbera actually shuddered and Jazz grinned like a madman back at the screen.

"I'll expect your team by the end of the week then." Barbera attempted to effect an air of finality to the statement. Jazz had a line handy if Grimlock did not respond, but Jazz was able to keep it in reserve.

"What human expect Me Grimlock can't help. Binaltech out." The screen winked out as Barbera started to bristle visibly.

"Way to go Grimms," smiled Jazz. "Ya know that never, ever gets old."

"Soldier-human holds Autobots to hostage 'cause we few. Help them out, we get fed. Seems fair deal, but Me Grimlock not like vulnerable."

"I hears what yer sayin' bro'," mused Jazz. "Who needs a stretch?"

"Take Dead End, he need work on being team mate. Smokescreen bent head for strange places."

"He certainly thinks laterally when he has too. I like that."

"Me Grimlock remember sideways think almost get us killed." If Grimlock intended the observation to be thought provoking then Jazz was having none of it, continuing to smile back at the former Dinobot, trying to be as exasperating to Grimlock as with Barbera. Grimlock needed meatier bait though. "Swerve need time away from poking rocks."

"Done and done Grimmy my man, you just leave this in the careful hands of the Jazzmeister and all will be smoothe sailing."

"Better be. Me Grimlock not like dealing with humans when Jazz go wrong."

"You don't like humans at all ya big lug. And since when have I steered you badly?" Jazz knew Grimlock was looking at him sourly, but he didn't care. Despite the week in confinement, there was something to do. Yeah baby!


	3. Immersion

_"Control, Agent One; objective is secure and Unit One has been secured from autonomous control."_

_"Acknowledged Agent One. At zero hundred hours local start the objective towards the cage. Great work team. Prepare engineering and IT teams for salvage and conversion operations."_

 

Pacific Ocean  
Exact Location Classified  
One Week Later

"Cheer up guys," said Jazz cheerfully. "At least we'll have room to walk around the top two decks of an aircraft carrier.” The four Autobots sat, still in vehicle modes, on the helicopter deck of the ageing nuclear powered Aegis Cruiser USS Princeton approaching the centre of the Fifth Fleet. The Cruiser had just been coming out of a difficult mid-life refit when the opportunity to accelerate the journey to the action arrived. The four cars were loaded into a rack in the helicopter hanger, vacant while the ship was in refit, its two Seahawk helicopters re-assigned to other vessels.

The big cruiser was approaching the centre of operations of the Fleet, and as big as the guided missile cruiser was, it was dwarfed by the size of the USS Nimitz, one of two Nimitz Class aircraft carriers, the mightiest warships ever constructed, assigned to this Fifth Fleet battle group. Several other vessels of the Fifth Fleet were in sight, cruisers, frigates, destroyers, support vessels and out on the horizon was the USS Ronald Reagan, the newest addition to the US Navy, conducting the fleet's air operations while the Nimitz was distracted by other duties. Several Sea King helicopters hovered over the deck of the 'Flat Top', waiting for the Princeton to finish moving alongside in order to steam parallel to the carrier.

"We have to go through the indignity of transport by helicopter, all crated up like freight." Smokescreen had not thought much about the travel arrangements.

"After you spent a month at sea last year?" said Swerve sounding puzzled. The first Sea King circled in towards the fantail of the Princeton as he spoke. Jazz moved forward on the rising and plunging deck. Jazz would have hated to do this in rough seas and suspected it might not be possible.

"I spent that in energon hibernation. Not in a bored waking sleep." Sailors raced across the deck, getting Jazz prepared for the four point sling to be placed within his wheelbase. "Maybe they should have just let us climb up a cable or something."

"Smokey, we're too heavy to float. If we fall from these tin cans we'll go straight to the ocean floor, and likely be crushed by the pressure, but still alive. That's an eternity I can do without." The Sea King took the strain with the sling attached to its belly hook and lifted Jazz quickly from the deck of the cruiser and up into the air towards the Nimitz.

With air operations cancelled for the afternoon, large portions of the aviators and deck crewman stood watching the Autobots arrived pointing at each one. Jazz remained in his Mazda RX8 mode and drove clear of the landing zone, moving forwards towards the super structure where the idle crewmembers had been standing, pointing and chatting with varying degrees of interest. The crew had not been informed of precisely what was going on, and rumours abounded. Several moved up for a close look at the driverless car. The arrival of Swerve caused a surge of interest. A Mazda was one thing, but a fire engine red Chevy Corvette was something else. Swerve drove over beside Jazz and parked. Each transfer took about forty minutes. Jazz was left on the deck to stew while the multi-colour coded crew milled around. Further forward towards the prow was a clutch of F-14 Tomcat air superiority fighters, reminding Jazz of the form Jetfire wore during the Terran Wars. A venerable RF-4 Phantom II reconnaissance fighter also sat on the deck, again reminding Jazz of a missing friend in Fireflight.

"Awww will you guys stop touching me like that?" Swerve's nervous voice started those near by the cabin, but with all the background noise most did not hear. "HEY! PAWS OFF THE METAL!" One of the senior officers present chuckled at Swerve's exclamation and walked over to Jazz’ drivers side door as the Sea King returned. The arrival of a Subaru rally car in full sponsor regalia soon cleared attention from Swerve though.

"You Jazz?"

"Yeah bud, what of it?"

"Captain Simon Phillips."

"You in charge of this shambles?"

"No, I'm the Air Wing Commander; the Admiral will be down once you're all aboard."

"No need to bring him down - can he get to that balcony there above us?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I've been seated like this for a week, I really need to stand."

"That will probably work."

After two hours the black Dodge Viper was unloaded and the four robots assembled in front of the 'Island' and came into a vague semblance of a line. Jazz decided to lay on a bit of a show and display some form of military discipline. The sailors were cleared away from the four cars.

"Autobots, transform." Jazz expected Dead End to be a little tardy, but it was Swerve who was slow and actually stumbled slightly, before snapping to attention at his full twenty plus foot height with the others. On the observation platform were two older figures in the ever present grey, but with more golden finery than the others stood out at head height to review them.

"At ease." Smokescreen took it slightly too literally and took a few step backwards before stretching mightily. "Jazz, I'm Captain Lars Johansson, Commander of the USS Nimitz; this is Rear Admiral George Wanless, Commander of the Fifth Fleet. On the Admiral's behalf I'd like to welcome you aboard."

"Pleasure to be aboard Captain, Admiral, may I present my team, Smokescreen, Swerve and Dead End." The pair nodded at each in turn; however Admiral Wanless lingered on Dead End. Sitting in the centre of Dead End's silver breast plate stood an unexpected purple geometric pattern.

"You brought a Decepticon into the fleet?"

"A Decepticon?" Surprise was evident in Johansson's voice, snapping back to follow Wanless' gaze at Dead End.

"I'm not going to pretend to justify the actions of my former colleagues, but I have found their objectives clash with my own."

"And what pray tell are your objectives son?" The Admiral's voice held a steel that brooked no argument.

"Dead End is a part of our team," said Jazz, attempting diplomacy, "and has been for some time. We consider him to be one of us."

"They why doesn't he look like one of you?" The haemoglobin red eyes and dark bronze face marked him apart, but Jazz hoped he was referring purely to the vivid violet Deceptibrand.

"Have you ever tried to change a tattoo Admiral?" The astuteness of Dead End's observation surprised Jazz and appeared to mollify the naval officer. Captain Johansson had quickly leant inside the structure to speak to someone. After that Johansson seemed to take pains to stand between Wanless and Dead End.

"Jazz, we've located the site of the object. It is protected by some kind of stealth screen which obscures the senses creating a dark or a black patch in the water." The Admiral paused as a small commotion occurred behind him. A detachment of Marines appeared on the bridge with several stepping onto the CAGs observation platform, two taking up the guarding position Captain Johansson had been occupying. Jazz glanced across at Dead End. If this song and dance routine made an impression on the former Stunticon, Jazz could not tell.

 

They don't trust you, said the small voice, the moment the human identified you as a Decepticon, they surrounded their commander with men.

Over the six months since the death of Wildrider, Menasor had evolved. Where once it had been a maddened ghost, sending him insane, now Menasor had become his own personal devils avatar. He had seen a something similar in human fiction, where the human had been tempted by a miniature version of himself in red, while another version in white appeared as the voice of reason. The dichotomy of human mind, 'why?' verses 'why not?'. Menasor had become the little figure in red. There was no corresponding Angel to speak words of reason however. Dead End had to do that himself.

"I'm a fleet commander Jazz." The Admiral continued to brief the Cybertronians. "Normally they'd send a specialist, but since I had to know anyway, they're saving on the specialist."

"No need to apologise sailor-boss man," Jazz was now noticeably relaxing as the human soldier opened up to the Special Operations Operative. However Wanless quiet and stared at Jazz, seeming to indicate Jazz had stepped too far over the bounds of familiarity. Jazz however just smiled back at the human.

"We can't risk our submersibles in this hidden area of water. It was decided you would be much more flexible for the task at much lower risk to those concerned."

"So we're disposable are we Admiral?"

"Like it or not son, everyone in the military is." Jazz paused and looked thoughtful at that last remark.

He'll pick you. He'll think of his own disposables. Solves all his Decepticon problems if you were to slip to crush depth, you'll see.

"You got the world's silliest diving bell for us then Admiral?"

"We've been able to rig up a winch mechanism which has been tested on our fire fighting dummy."

"We dangle from the coat hanger and have a look inside the black?"

"Uhhhh, Jazz I'm not sure..."

"Not now Swerve. How soon can the winch be ready?"

"A matter of hours."

"Let's do it. I'm proud to be a part of this plan." Jazz had become more irrepressible as time had gone by. The release of pressure of command had had a cathartic effect on the Autobot, Dead End had noticed

"Jazz!" Swerve was getting more insistent, moving close to Jazz side, trying to whisper at his team leader. Problem was an Autobot whisper was clearly audible to every human nearby.

"Yes Swerve?"

"Sea water."

"So do I. Lots of it. Far as the optics can perceive. Literally." Jazz was being merciless today. He was in a very happy mood.

Because he's going to do away with his Decepticon problem. The humans have got nothing to hand out here at sea to fight you. Push Jazz and Swerve into the fluid and shoot Smokescreen in the back, then take command of this boat and get the humans the lay waste to what you want.

"Sea water has high concentrations of dissolved alkalines. They can attack our systems, remember they are made of simpler metals that the Terrans can utilise. Dead End's armour should stand up best out of us all."

SEE!

"How so?"

"Based on Skids figures, armour integrity. Frame design. And something happened to Dead End in Guatemala. His armour plates are... different. I can sense it and want to analyse it but he won't let me. I can speculate it might have something to do with Wildrider having been a Gestalt partner with him, and those energies may have tempered his armour plating, but that's speculation."

Swerve wants you dead too. Always so nice and friendly, he's just hiding behind a pleasant veneer before he sticks a blade in our spark chamber.

"It's my spark chamber," said Dead End under his breath. "You're dead. Move on and take your paranoia with you." The nearest Marine started at Dead End's comments, quiet though they were, and eyed the Decepticon even more closely.

"Well in any case Swerve, I've made my decision."

Grab your sub-rifle, and blast Jazz now!

"And I'm going."

"You?" This was Smokescreen chipping in to the conversation.

"Haven't you ever wanted to go scuba diving off a South Pacific Island on a gorgeous summer afternoon? A lotta humans fantasise about it."

"This is the North Pacific, the nearest islands are the Aleutians, which are about 3,500 kilometres away, and this time of year are covered in and surrounded by ice. We can probably arrange an afternoon though."

"Are you going to rain on my parade Subaru boy?"

"Skies look clear to me," said Smokescreen without a trace of sarcasm.

"Will you two treat me seriously for a moment?" asked Swerve plaintively.

"If you're quite finished?" The gruff voice of Admiral Wanless brought the discussion to a halt.

"Suit me up Admiral, I'm your bot." Jazz carefree attitude held no malice, just a keenness to explore the edge of his environment. And Menasor hated it all the more.

 

"Are you receiving me Nimitz?" Jazz was forced to vocalise through his radio rather than transmit through the deep blue. A large rectangular shaped rig was attached to the large white cape style arrangement that hung from Jazz' shoulders and former his roofline and windscreens as a Mazda RX-8. Cabling wound several loops from the bottom of the rig around Jazz' abdomen and up around his arm pits and shoulders. The entire arrangement was attached to one of Nimitz anchor chains as the chain winched him downwards towards this dark zone. Somewhere off to Jazz right, he couldn't see where, visibility lessened as he descended, was the attack submarine USS Jefferson City, monitoring his descent with the most discriminating underwater detection systems ever floated. Not that Jazz thought much of the capability. There were no naturally formed liquid seas on Cybertron so a lot of the significance of the humans nautical traditions slipped by Jazz. Although, Jazz reflected, Seaspray and Broadside had been quite taken with them. Well Seaspray had. Broadside had had his own problems.

Jazz had no idea where either the Minibot or the Triple Changer were.

This strange zone, this field was almost directly below now.

"You are approaching the zone now." This voice was a different voice and crackled through the water over short range phone. The underwater equivalent of the boys game where you strung two cans together held it tight and spoke through it. The voice had come from the Captain's interphone on the Jefferson City. Jazz did not reply to the voice. Chances were he couldn't reply to the Jefferson City anyway without knowing how to modulate his voice correctly underwater. Or opening his mouth, which he especially did not want to do.

Jazz felt as much as saw the field as he passed through the outer edge, and suddenly all his senses failed. He was pitch black and aware of nothing other than the frame on his back.

"Nimitz slow it down some, I'm inside." There was no response, but progress slowed anyway. The sensation of the rig on his back was the only thing keeping Jazz grounded in reality. This was what the humans called sensory deprivation and it was a particularly ugly tactic that less scrupulous used as an interrogation tool.

It seemed like forever but Jazz did not hit anything, touch anything, and then the gloom lifted. Slightly. It was the stygian depths, but it was something detectable, and there was a background hiss coming from the Nimitz communications.

"Jazz are you receiving?"

"I am now. I'm on the other side. I didn't hit anything."

"You went through the middle? Currents didn't take to the edge?" This was Wanless, taking over the speaker’s role from which ever Navy communications specialist had been one of Jazz two voices, along with the Captain of the Jefferson City, of reality for the last hour.

"I have no explanations for you Admiral, other than whatever you thought was here is in fact not here. Haul me up."

"We'll have to drag you back through the zone again." The communications specialist had returned to the line. Jazz felt a tug as upwards motion began.

"Then my white suited warrior I can double check for you."

"The return trip will be.... err..." the voice trailed off as nothingness returned. This time, Jazz spread his arms and legs wide and waved them about. Nothing ventured.

There was a bump. Something gained.

"Stop!" Jazz flailed about in the murk trying to find what it was he felt. After several minutes of waving there was second bump. After several more bumps Jazz was able to grab the something it was small, well Transformer small. And it felt familiar. It felt like Transformer tech.

"Resume." There was a tug, and more tugs, but no other sensation. Jazz checked his internal clock. By now he should have emerged on the upper side, but now the zone appeared to be surfacing, until...

There was a click as something shifted within the device. The zone disappeared and the lighter colours of a shallow depth sprang into being.

"Jazz are you receiving?"

"Loud and clear Nimitz."

"The zone has disappeared," the scratchy voice from the Jefferson City informed.

"Jefferson City says the zone has disappeared," irrelevantly added the Nimitz.

"Yeah, I know why," said Jazz, his voice devoid of his returned characteristic good cheer and charm. "Admiral Wanless, you've been had. Whatever was here was picked up almost immediately and a distraction was left behind here for you to find. Can you tell Smokescreen to get the Binaltech facility on the horn? I have a few questions that need asking."


	4. Investigation

_"Control; Agent One. Redman identity successful. Exterior security penetrated and have broached the storage facility."_

_"Acknowledged Agent One, Unit Seven proceed with the acquisition. Utilise Ligier protocols at all times from here. Unit One proceed with exfiltration plan."_

 

Autobot Barracks  
Binaltech Facility, Nevada  
One Week Later

"We never paid much attention to the surge," said the technician. "A breakthrough with hologram technology had been considered only been a matter of time. It's been a while coming."

"And it would have been a while longer, but whomever built this cheated," replied Wheeljack. His voice was as dispassionate as anyone had ever heard it. Wheeljack and two technical specialists from the 'Joes' had been inspecting large images sent from the Nimitz to the Binaltech complex. They also had several commercial holographic projectors of a particular brand dissected on the bench. Skids arrived in the room and walked over to Wheeljack's station, taking his time arranging himself at the bench so as to not injure any of the humans present. Silverstreak sat serenely by the doorway, paying attention, but otherwise sitting on the floor, knees sticking out to each side with the soles of his feet together in some approximate parody of a yoga position, holding his arms out with a wrist wresting on each knee.

"Or has it? I want to see one of their commercial projectors," responded Skids. The development was not a happy one potentially, as it would mean Wheeljack and Skids would have to do something particularly unpleasant.

"You have to admit the similarities..."

"Yes Wheeljack I do."

"Can we get Grimlock to join us? We have the beginnings of the puzzle. Corporal if you could set up the teleconference?"

"Sir." A large screen immediately snapped to life. A picture snapped into focus instantly. A black line separated two halves of the picture. On the right the picture was dark, but some fluorescent lights started to flicker on in the background quickly lightening the room. The other side was battleship grey in the background, with Jazz turning to face the camera. At least one member of his team was also present, but was shadowed in the background and not immediately discernible.

"Hey-ya Jackie boy, what's swinging?"

"We're just waiting for a few people to join the call Jazz. How is the sea?"

"You do not wanna know man. 'Dja hear Swerve is seasick now? Man that poor cat's got some issues. He spent a week on a cruiser and he's seasick now on the carrier?"

"If I may suggest Jazz, get him to transform into his vehicular mode," Skids said in a thoughtful tone. "It could be he did not notice the ride on the cruiser because he was tucked into alternate mode."

A human figure appeared in the second screen, familiar to all. The diminutive almost undernourished wheelchair bound figure magnified by the huge screen made Doctor Chip Chase appear almost haggard. Chase, elsewhere within the Nevada facility was in a clean room and could not easily come out to the Autobot barracks. It was easier to do it this way. Behind the bench where Wheeljack and Skids were set up was a large aircraft hangar. The Autobots were used to working from hangars. Few building could match their internal dimensions that were still plentiful to come by. Groom Lake had more than a few hangars.

"OK, thank you Barry, I'm up now." Chase spoke to someone off camera.

"Heya Chip!"

"Jazz, it is good to hear your voice. How is everyone?"

"Dead End's kinda quiet, but he's not like the great talker anyway right? Heh - you hear Swerve is seasick? Smokey's giving him three different kinds of grief over that."

"Swerve just needs a touch of tough love," said Smokescreen's disembodied voice in the background.

"Swerve needs his equilibrium back," said an even more distant voice, which if it was Swerve was not easily recognisable and sounded thoroughly miserable. "And I'm not even remotely interested in any love YOU have to offer. "When humans vomit what is it they actually regurgitate?"

"You shouldn't tease Swerve," admonished Chase. "He's just earnest. And tell him he can't throw up. He should be very thankful for that. Wheeljack, what have you found?"

"The device Jazz found is more than just based on Cybertronian technology, it's Cybertronian biology." Wheeljack's statement left a profound silence. On screen Jazz' bonhomie disappeared into a mask as unreadable as Grimlock's. Chase's facial features flickered through a couple of half attempted emotional responses, but settled again. The human broke the silence.

"How?"

"There has been plenty of opportunities over the years Wheels," said a subdued Jazz. "There have been plenty of battles on this world. Just think how many times you personally tore chunks off of Seekers. There have even been a few of us buried around this planet. I found Brawn..."

"This wasn't from Brawn or from Starscream," said Wheeljack. "This was based on holographic technology."

"Unicron's horn," whispered Smokescreen. The diversionist had moved up to Jazz' shoulder on the view from the Nimitz' cavernous aft hangar bay. "Hound."

"Both of Hound's frames are interned here," said Chase. "How could anyone get in here?"

"You're going to have to check the Vault," said Jazz, considerably subdued.

"There is much bad energy there Wheeljack," cautioned Silverstreak. "The humans believe there is significant negative energy around the remains of the dead and they are better remembered in absence."

"Someone is going to have to check and I'm the best qualified," said Wheeljack.

"Since our reincarnation you have put yourself through much negative impulses and have several times gone against your instincts and your better judgement. You need to take better care of your natural aura than to involve myself with such negativity of those who have passed beyond."

"Someone had to lead Silverstreak," shot back Wheeljack a little testily, putting additional emphasis on the 'silver' portion of his new name. "I don't recall you stepping forward."

There was a crashing sound behind them and Silverstreak started to unfold from his seated position. Wheeljack waved at Silverstreak to stay and motioned at Skids to continue while he broke off from the conversation to turn to greet the new arrival. The two Ford Mustangs met in the middle of the hangar.

"What story?" Grimlock's voice was pure matter of fact. There was an expectation in his voice that suggested the answers would be forthcoming. Wheeljack swallowed his flash of anger towards Silverstreak and attempted to ignore Grimlock's tone.

"The device Jazz discovered... we think it was a modification or a copy of Hound's holographic projector."

"How get stolen?"

"We don't know, but I want to check the Vault."

"Humans do anything for self interest. Likely humans took for exchange."

"Grimlock, how much do you know about these Binaltech created frames we wear?" Wheeljack's voice had adopted a world weary air. He knew intimately how much Grimlock knew. He had personally walked Grimlock through the transition from Dinobot to Mustang.

"Weakling human build. Not lot." It must have sounded lame, even to Grimlock.

"Grimlock, with the exception of Jazz, who does these things for reasons of noble stupidity passing understanding that you have to love him for, these frames were built for us by these humans to save our lives. I was left in scrap at Autobot City, left lying for dead beside Windcharger and we had to be dug from the rubble after Devastator threw a wall into the room. Sideswipe was pummelled by a Gestalt, Swerve was buried alive in a mineshaft, Smokescreen and Silverstreak were beaten to death by a Decepticon assault in Japan, they are still wearing prototypes, I can't let them leave without a sat-phone pack because of their maintenance schedule, Dead End was bashed by Sideswipe in a frenzy, Skids was beaten by Prowl in a frenzy and don't get started on Prowl, and you! You who stood in the breach and said 'thou shall not pass' and held back Shockwave. They did this for us. They deserve more respect than what you give them."

"What point?" Wheeljack stared at this Autobot that held so much of his admiration, and tried not to be completely disgusted by his jingoism. No, racism Wheeljack decided in a moment of anger.

"I don't know, but I do know that we owe them our lives. Either way we have to broach the Vault."

"No."

"That thing Jazz discovered uses Cybertronian holographic technology but was built by humans. I have to know how they found out. I have to examine Hound's frames."

"What others say?"

"Skids agrees, Silverstreak wants me to take better care of my natural aura than to involve myself with such negativity of those who have passed beyond."

"You say that?"

"I quoted. It was Jazz' idea, but I've no idea of the others with him."

"Yes, you Skids only, no humans," Grimlock paused and despite the mask, Wheeljack was aware the Grimlock was struggling with his own question.

"What about 'Cons? Where they get frames from?" Wheeljack stopped his thought process suddenly.

"Dead End you know. Swindles frame was one built for Trailbreaker who in the end recovered and never needed it. Shockwave's was built by a number of scientists in Japan working for the Yakuza thinking their own pet Cybertronian would be a good thing to have, or at least that was how the survivors told the story, Ravage I have no idea, Wildrider I've been thinking about. I've seen that frame before. The colours didn't remind you of anyone?"

"Yes."

"It was built for Bumblebee, but he died before a transplant could be affected, although whether Bumblebee would have wanted it is another story. A story YOU know well. Nobody seemed to have noticed when the frame went missing, or even how Wildrider knew it existed."

"Who knew apart from Autobots?" Wheeljack stopped at Grimlock's question. Wheeljack knew several humans had been implicated in the theft of Trailbreakers frame. Humans had built Shockwaves and likely Ravages frame as well. "Humans betray us numerous occasions. Prowl, Windcharger, Hound dead because humans. NOT tell Grimlock what to think of humans."

Wheeljack was left looking at the retreating back of his friend and commander. Despite Grimlock's counter-accusations Wheeljack felt nothing but anger towards the Dinobot. Pausing, Wheeljack got his anger under control. He never used to be this angry. If only Ratchet were here. He missed his old partner from the Ark days a lot more since becoming marooned, once again on Earth.

One more mental shrug and Wheeljack turned to walk back across the hanger towards Skids and Silverstreak. There was much to organise.


	5. Accusation

_"Agent One; Control. Unit Seven successful. Proceed with Phase II and commit Units One, Four and Five. Agent Six stand by to commence Phase III."_

_"Control; Agent Five. Access has been gained but we have been compromised."_

_"Proceed as planned Agent Five. Agent Six, commit Units Two and Six to Phase III. All agents expedite timing, set schedule to condition two."_

 

Autobot Barracks  
Binaltech Facility, Nevada  
Two Days Later

"I need to speak to Grimlock immediately, I need for him to deploy."

"Thank you for taking the time to contact us this morning General. It is a beautiful morning is it not? How is it for you in California?" The viewscreen image of General Barbera looked like she could tear her hair out at any moment.

"Look Bluestreak..."

"It's Silverstreak Ma'am, if you..."

"I'll call you Susanna-May if I so choose, where is Grimlock?"

"General I sense a great amount of stress in your voice; I believe you need to calm yourself. Are you in regular communion with your inner self General? I feel sure you could benefit from some relaxing meditation. If you would be so willing I could mentor you..."

"If you say one more word I will see to it that you are maimed in a manner not easily repairable." There was an uneasy silence for a minute before Grimlock arrived. He nodded at Silverstreak, who stayed seated at the communications console.

"Grimlock I do not want this imbecile to operate the communications station again."

"Me Grimlock want you not use Autobot frequency. Neither get what want. State purpose."

"Sacramento lost all electrical power an hour ago and it has not been restored."

"Why I care?"

"Civilian agencies report the hydro-electrical facility supplying Sacramento is being occupied by Transformers. I have a team of Joes heading for the facility and will arrive momentarily but we need Autobot help to attack these Decepticons."

"There no Decepticons on Earth."

"Reports I'm getting suggest otherwise. Now haul ass and get yourself to Sacramento."

"Take eight hours. Autobots not have air transport." Barbera looked dumbfounded.

"What? But you always..." Barbera face seemed to pause, as if her expectations had betrayed her somehow.

"Jazz not lie about us. You need update. Me assemble team but we get there far too late." Grimlock strode out of the communications room tapping Silverstreak's shoulder as he left.

"Forgive me General but I have to go now," said Silverstreak. "Can I contact you about arranging a course of stress management through meditation?" Barbera looked thunderous but deactivated the teleconference without further comment.

 

The Vault  
Binaltech Facility, Nevada  
Same Time

Gloom pervaded the musty atmosphere of the room. Such lighting as there was created spots on the floor of the cavern like chamber. Lonely spotlights searching for a stand-up comic and a brick wall. This however was not a room for incisive but humorous observations of human behaviour.

Skids looked across the room where another figure was crouched. In the near dark at the far end of the room, close by the entrance, a white figure sat in front of two large open cabinets. Wheeljack knelt on the floor of the underground chamber in front of one of the cabinets. Skids heard his own footsteps echoing softly as he moved from one cabinet to the next. The stale and still air and the lack of light had a certain effect. This was not a room for humans.

This was the Autobot Masoleum.

Skids looked back towards Wheeljack again. Within those two cabinets each sat the sparkless hull of the two frames Hound had worn on Earth. Skids turned back with a mounting sense of sadness. Before him stood another sparkless hull. To this one Skids had devoted five years of his life trying to restore its bearer to a life worth living. By Grimlock's account in his last moments he achieved that, despite the crucible of pain he had been forced to endure. Skids took comfort in that but now here before the former theoretician, standing upright but with no comforting glow coming from his pale blue optics, mocking life in its own way, stood Prowl. Mercifully Prowl had not been disturbed. But he knew that was not the case with all of the former Autobots here. Or the Decepticons Skids had to remind himself. Stored at the very back of the chamber were the hulls of Ravage, Swindle and Wildrider. The Combaticon had not been touched but the Stunticon and the Casseticon had been.

Skids found he missed his former friends and colleagues. Back in the days of the war on Cybertron you got used to casualties and your personality tended to armour itself against the loss of others. Something had changed during the years Skids spent on Earth. Those around him did not die on a daily or weekly basis and real friendships formed. Skids had found his personality unfolding and opening up. All that had changed on a remote Central American mountain top. Now, more than ever he felt alone and lonely for the companionship of others. Skids turned towards Wheeljack.

The engineer had some of Hound's internals in front of him. He showed no distaste, nor did Skids; both had performed post-mortem examinations before.

"What have you got?" he said without looking up as Skids approached, the glow of his sensor projections casting a cold, blue tinged light in the immediate surroundings, eerily lighting up Hound's Binaltech frame.

"Several of the frames have been... violated." Wheeljack looked up at Skids momentarily, with as far as Skids could determine from behind Wheeljacks face plate, a look of concern. Skids was reminded then of something Ratchet had said when he had been conducting medical lectures that all the scientific corps had been forced to attend.

"Mourn for the dead when there is time, but save your concern for the living. No matter how much you worry and work, the dead will still be dead." Skids remembered the veteran white helmeted medic fondly, a good friend and one of the few who had ever gotten a personal reaction from Skids.

"Which ones?"

"Yours," Wheeljack turned his head to look straight at Skids with that revelation. "Grimlock, Jazz, Smokescreen, Swerve, Tracks, Windcharger’s original frame, although it's impossible to tell from what's left of his Binlatech frame if that was tampered with, Motormaster, Ravage and Wildrider."

"In both cases Hound's abdomen had been disturbed as well." Wheeljack paused before continuing. "What do those frames offer that the ones they left did not?"

"That may not be a simple answer, but it does suggest they knew what they were looking for and had a list."

"Yeah." Again Wheeljack paused, looking at the parts before for a moment, as if hoping one would suddenly come to life and explain the entire mystery. Wheeljack suddenly unfolded his legs and climbed to his feet. "C'mon, Chip says he has something."

 

Testing Facility  
Binaltech Facility, Nevada  
Five Minutes Later

The four Autobots still at the Binaltech facility arrived at Grimlock's former cell more or less simultaneously. Grimlock grumbled the situation as described to him by General Barbera, while Wheeljack explained the findings of his and Skids' investigation.

"That is disturbing Wheeljack," said Doctor Chase from his elevated platform. "But I think I can add something to the puzzle. Joe Willard and his security team have been going over footage reels from the Vault and found some footage that had been damaged. One of the tech teams have been helping out with the footage and at the same time correlated the security records for this portion of footage against who had passed the security points."

The projector in the back of the room came to life and grainy black and white footage appeared of the ante-room outside the Vault. A tough looking well built man had been standing beside Dr. Chase's wheelchair. Wearing one of the security uniforms that made him look like any other security staff in any minor building maintenance position, the way the shirt hung on his frame indicated power and fitness of someone whose work was well beyond that of a night watchman. The name badge on his lapel said simply 'WILLARD'.

"Security records indicate that Sideswipe accessed the building at approximately this time. However Sideswipe has not been seen on the grounds since returning from Central America last year." The picture cleared slightly but was still a haze of static. A Cybertronian frame was visible moving about as it moved from one camera to the next.

"It certainly looks like Sideswipe," said Wheeljack, giving voice to many concerns. The last time Sideswipe had been seen was just after the formal ceremony to remember recent deceased, included in that number as Sideswipe's 'brother' Sunstreaker. Sideswipe had not handled his death well. He went on a personal rampage of revenge, one by one hunting down his brother’s killers, the Stunticons, until Dead End remained. By which time Dead End had become an ally of the Autobots. Seeing his brother’s murderer actually protected by his friends was too much for sideswipe and he had not been seen since. From time to time when Tracks, who also felt disenchanted with the Binaltech Autobots, checked in with Grimlock he would report on what Sideswipe had been up to, but not always. The final camera shot showed the figure entering the Vault. It was a high angle shot, and for the first time a silhouette of the figures head appeared in shot. Willard used the remote control to freeze the picture at that point. It was not Sideswipe.

"Dead End!" whispered Silverstreak.

"Me Grimlock need explanation now."

"We don't have one, yet," said Chase. "You had better get to Sacramento. Dead End will still be at sea when you return. Question is; do we tell Jazz?"

"No," said Grimlock. "Autobots, transform, roll." With the ever familiar crunching sound of shifting plates, two Ford Mustangs, a Subaru Impreza and a Scion XB left the room for the wide Autobot tunnel to the surface, leaving behind the two humans looking at each other with concern.


	6. Question

_"Control; Agent Five. Juliet units are inbound, Agent Seven confirms."_

_"Agent Five: Control. Any Alpha Units?"_

_"Control. Unit Five indicates negative at this time."_

_"All Agents; Control, assimilate what materials gained and evacuate for rally point Zulu with Unit Three. Agent Three advises primary objective achieved."_

 

Dam on Sacramento River  
California  
Five hours later

The four vehicle convoy pulled up towards the edge of a cordon around the edge of the massive hydro-electric facility but could get no closer to the facility as a crowd of people had gathered and with none of the four vehicles looking in anyway official, the spectators were not parting to let them through.

"Humans move!"

"Grimlock," urged Wheeljack over a radio frequency. "Watch your language around the humans. We are supposed to be acting covert."

"Covert may no longer be as much a concern as before," offered Silverstreak slowly. "Some of the humans here are mentioning Transformers being involved. It could be that our cover has been compromised."

"Then we hang tight until he can attract someone's attention," said Wheeljack. "Skids you've got the good sensor suite here, can you detect any of the Joes?"

"Several FBI agents are present, but no paramilitary operatives I can discern. How much does the FBI know of our renewed presence on Earth?"

"Not enough."

"Call Barbera human, get her fix thing." Grimlock's voice was impatient.

"I can not attract the Joes attention on their communications frequency, there is considerable signal traffic." While Scions were about as interesting as wallpaper and Subaru Imprezas were as common as rocks, the pair of Mustang GTs at the front of the small group was attracting the attention of some of the humans.

"Grubby humans take paws off metal," Grimlock vocalised at two gawking onlookers, bored with the seemingly solid appearance of a dam.

"Grimlock!"

"Not care Wheeljack. Go tell to Megatron."

"It spoke. It's one of them!" One of the two young men who had been slavering over Grimlock and Wheeljack unexpectedly put two and two together. The crowd turned to look at the four vehicles, only now noticing the lack of drivers. A couple of screams rang out and suddenly the crowd was running in all directions, stampeding, clambering over each other.

The original human who figured out their cover, now held a couple of rocks and started to pelt Grimlock's left side panels while the leering friend produced a pistol, which he then aimed at Wheeljack in gangsta fashion.

"Attention any Joe units, Autobots under attack!" Silverstreak urgent call went out over the airwaves.

"Wait Grimlock it's only a pistol, I'll be fine, let him shoot me."

"No. No pathetic human shoot Autobot." With that statement, the silver Mustang's roofline spilt at the back near the edge of the hatch and the rear of the car rotated at it's base, upwards forming two legs which Grimlock got underneath himself as his arms unfolded from beneath his engine bay, pushing himself upright as the cars undertray rotated around his midsection, disgorging the massive Energo Sword as it did so. The front of the bonnet hinged upwards allowing Grimlock's head to appear from the rear of the bonnet, and to the terrified onlookers, Grimlock now stood, grasping the massive flaming sword in one had, while in the other his ersatz V8 engine reconfigured into a twin barrelled sub-rifle.

"Humans get back and let Autobots fix problem."

The now weaponless rock thrower fled from the giant silver and black figure, but the pistoleer started firing at Grimlock in a panic. He got five rounds off before the fire bright energo sword thudded into the ground in front of him. The boy dropped the pistol in fright and fled at a dead run, a suited FBI agent in his wake.

"Help! Doctor! Get a Doctor here now!"

One human had collapsed, her lifeblood leaking into the tarmac of the nearby roadway. Grimlock stared at the scene as another human attempted to nurse the wounded human, no doubt hit by a ricochet off Grimlock's armour plating.

"Dammit Grimlock, what the hell are you doing exposing yourself," This was the voice of Barbera, screaming down the radio waves from the Joe's command position up near the dam itself. "Get away from there and let the Bureau deal with the civilians before you hurt any more of them with your ignorance." The anger in Barbera's voice was something Grimlock could deal with. Resuming his Ford Mustang alt mode Grimlock kept the anger in check for the moment.

The four cars set off along the access road, no longer blocked by spectators. Silverstreak muttered nervously to himself, a vestige of his former personality that escaped past his veneer of serenity. Skids had retreated, the sight of the wounded human, momentarily confusing him. Conscripted aeons ago into the medical corps like so many of the Autobot science corps. Skids however was still the theoretician at spark, most at home working with research, statistics, equations and computations. His time as an Autobot medic on Earth had been as a nurse and psychologist as much as doctor. His commitment to the Binaltech team now wavered. Wheeljack superseded his abilities as a medic, and there was no use for a theoretician at what was effectively an unsupported outpost. What was Skids roll in this place?

"You’re not helping yourself Grimlock," was Barbera's terse greeting when the four vehicles arrived at Barbera's command post. The armoured truck sat with one side open and hinged upwards, allowing Barbera to address more easily those outside from within the vehicle. Gaudily dressed Joe troops mingled amongst the Khaki of regular soldiers and the suits of the FBI agents.

"The authorities have a hard enough time keeping most Americans from attacking up the first Muslim they can find and sending Molotov Cocktails into Mosques. You want to give them an excuse for them to start randomly burning cars? The sooner Jazz gets back here the better.”

“Jazz is stuck out there at your request,” said Skids, feeling as though someone should stand up for the Autobots if Grimlock and Wheeljack were not willing.

“The Navy’s request, not that it actually matters. As it happens the four of the are airborne and should arrive back in California within a few hours by airlift. Since you came to sift through the wreckage I have something for you. I need your opinion of the security footage recorded during the assault..."

"All you have for Me Grimlock is TV? Where 'cons go? We follow."

"We don't even know that Dececpticons were responsible for this. The footage is... inconclusive. Your motley imitation of a military rabble is the closest thing we have to experts on the subject. You couldn't get here in time to repel your Decepticons, so when you are too slow to respond the next time we will be better able to protect the American citizens your alien activities have threatened."

Wheeljack failed to understand why Grimlock's temper had not erupted at the human General. Was Grimlock developing a sense of responsibility beyond the immediate? Barbera's truck transmitted the footage to the four mechanised warriors. Wheeljack’s sensors lingered on Grimlock and Barbera for a moment before opening the digital video file.

 

Security Compound  
Binaltech Facility, Nevada  
Same Time

“As you can see here Doctor Chase, there was just enough of a light source here to add some colourisation.” Chase peered into the monitor of the station the analyst was working at. Over Chase’s shoulder was the large physical presence of Willard while a second analyst was also present in the darkened room where the analysis of the Vault security videos had been continuing.

"As you can see the results are not what we expected." Dead End's dark coloured frame was anything but. Lighter colours featuring prominently.

"Any thoughts Doctor?" This was Willard, injecting his voice into the discussion. "Can this be Sideswipe trying to make us think he is his brother?"

"That would match the security records wouldn't it?" Chase sat back in his chair. "Could it be Sideswipe actually believes he is Sunstreaker, such is his desire to return him to life?" For a few moments there was no further comment.

"Mr. Willard, I want to talk to Tracks as soon as we can arrange it. We have to know what Sideswipe is doing, preferably without him knowing it."

"Sideswipe is estranged enough from Binaltech as it is, do we really want to push him further away?"

"Sideswipe's feelings have to take a lower priority for the moment. And don't tell Grimlock yet. I want to know more about this affair before I speak to him. Dead End will be stuck at sea for a while so there shouldn't be any harm."


	7. Confrontation

_"Control; Agent Seven."_

_"Go ahead Seven."_

_"Unit Seven proceeding to secondary acquisition, experiencing no opposition at this time. Inclear system operating optimally."_

_"Acknowledged Agent Seven. Be advised alert status at destination has been heightened._

_"Acknowledged Control, proceeding with caution"_

 

Security Compound  
Binaltech Facility, Nevada  
Late Evening, Same Day

"I'm not sure what you're asking of me Chip," Tracks' proud voice crackled slightly over the distance of the transmission, and through the meshing of Cybertronian and Human radio technologies, which never quite seemed to merge seamlessly, even on such simple levels. "But I do not like the implications."

Chip Chase pulled his thin framed spectacles from his face with one hand while massaging his tired features with the other, rubbing at eyes sore from too long a time spent away from his bed, more of a cot really, in his office. It may not have been much, and his real bed may have been untouched in several months, but he longed for the office cot all the same. Chase out of habit checked his watch. He had long gotten into the habit of checking it regularly and ran the math of how long it had been since he had allowed his nerveless lower body to vent. He would have to keep the call short, less he need to get his chair cleaned again. Some scientists could afford the luxury of scattered brained absent mindedness. Chase had that luxury broken some forty years ago, along with his back. He no longer remembered the accident, but he always remembered the discipline he had needed since. He wished the subjects he worked with could maintain the same sort of discipline.

"Tracks you need to see this from our perspective. This figure looks like Dead End but the colouring is all wrong. I've speculated that Sideswipe's mental state could easily have become fragile and I want to explore the possibility that Sideswipe has actually tried to become his brother in order to restore Sunstreaker to life. I need you to contact him since he won't answer us."

"I haven't seen him in a few months but he was red then. He was still mad, but not unhinged. He's just maintained the same level of being pissed, but we still talk."

"Just not for three months." The silence following Chip's assertion spoke volumes. "Tracks, I know you hated it when Jazz put you in a position you did not like but we have to know. Because if it is not Sideswipe..."

"You are correct Doctor Chase," said Tracks, all inflection in his voice dropping away. "But I will do what you ask."

 

Dam on Sacramento River  
California  
Five hours later

"Jackie boy!" Wheeljack turned at the unlikely voice. A convoy of four cars had approached in the small hours of the morning as clearing the aftermath of the incident continued. The last gawking spectator had left some time ago, and the Autobots had felt less constrained in their movements. Grimlock and Silverstreak were helping with some of the physical grunt-work while Skids worked with the FBI technicians to clear up the security video images into something usable. Wheeljack was helping to co-ordinate vehicle movements at the site, using his height to keep track of everything moving as well as interfacing with the Joe's command and control systems. Wheeljack had noted the four vehicles approach but not until they cleared to perimeter and the two news crews in attendance that he turned to pay them attention.

"Jazz! Come on up I'll clear you through. Auto Two to Joe Seventeen, allow access to four sports cars at your position. Attention Grimlock and General Barbera, Jazz and crew have arrived."

"Good, Me Grimlock want Dead End now." After Grimlock's voice the radio crackled briefly before a new human voice intruded.

"Grimlock, Wheeljack, Jazz and Dead End report to the command vehicle and report to the General."

"Silverstreak," Wheeljack turned his head to look towards where the former gunner had been using his fists to reduce some of the large debris into human manageable chunks. "Could you find some work for Smokey and Swerve? All Joe units, Auto Two is standing down." Wheeljack 's bonnet shifted upwards and his head slid backwards and underneath as his arms folded upwards into the engine bay, the torso and floor pan twisted at the waist before closing and aligning with his legs as they folded inwards, leaving a white Ford Mustang read to greet the white Mazda RX8 and black Dodge Viper as the climbed the hill towards the top of the structure.

Grimlock sat in his hated car mode alongside the command truck waiting as the others arrived.

"Hey Grims baby, you gettin' any better at handlin' rubber?"

"Jazz," was Grimlock's monosyllabic reply. He said nothing further. The silence was suddenly deafening. Dead End did his usual silent act. Wheeljack knew the hammer was about to fall on the Decepticon, but he did not know how he felt about it.

After the incident in Central America, Wheeljack had developed some sympathy for the plight of the Stunticon, the former Stunticon. The Stunticons got something of a bad wrap as an adversary, mainly from the antics of Motormaster and Breakdown whose grasp on sanity was bad even for Decepticons. The evolution of Wildrider into Decepticharge was something that had taken everyone by surprise, but had only altered the perception of Wildrider, not the Stunticons as a whole. It was a lot easier to feel sympathy for an enemy that was perceived to be incompetent. Problem was if he was on Wheeljack's side now, then he was Wheeljack's incompetent now. The engineer briefly wondered how Motormaster had dealt with him, only to conclude that he probably hadn't dealt with him at all.

Plus while it was easy for him to feel sympathy towards Dead End, he knew that Grimlock felt differently. While describing Dead End as a friend to Grimlock might be an exaggeration, he had certainly become the former Dinobots confident. The concept of Grimlock developing a conscience, or even the remotest hint of self-doubt was subtly frightening. For a while Jazz and Wheeljack had tried the keep this relationship under wraps, but conversing with Smokescreen was like playing the human game of chess. He could lead in a certain direction and then suddenly have you confessing your deepest secrets without being aware of it. Wheeljack regularly thanked the gods he no longer believed in that Red Alert had never discovered Smokey's conversational techniques. Once Smokescreen knew there was no point. There were only eight of them now, ten if you included the two rebels. Jazz had since decided that keeping secrets was pointless

Well they had a secret now. And it had been Jazz they were keeping it from. But Barbera had wanted first digs.

A Humvee raced rapidly toward the command van, in company with a blue civilian people mover covered with flame motifs. While neither vehicle would look out of place in the Joe's garages and hangars, neither vehicle belonged to the shadowy human force. The Humvee belonged to the regular Army, while Skids did not belong to anyone. Barbera alighted from the Humvee before it finished pulling up. An adjutant appeared in the rear doorway of the Command Car.

"Ya car's a bit drab there General," called Jazz cheerfully. The General paused in her march towards the command car.

"Jazz, while some of the troops under my command may have a somewhat liberal attitude towards uniforms and the concept of gaudily coloured combat vehicles, I am a General officer in the United States Army and a different standard is held up for senior commanders. Perhaps if your military unit looked less like a psychedelic rabble you would be more effective."

"How we work if we all look dull green cargo hauler? We stick out at Venice Beach." Barbera paused, turning away from Jazz to look at the silver Mustang, but said nothing further. If it was possible to stand more erect she did so and motioned to the adjutant who held up a palm pilot and tapped at the screen.

"Jazz, Dead End, earlier today this hydro electric facility was taken by Decepticons and held for a few hours. Just as we were assembling a response and with Grimlock's team still several hours away they departed. We found the remnants of energon cube making equipment, and this collection of debris to distract us from pursuit. The tactics were right out of Megatron's mid 80's playbook."

"There are no Decepticons left on Earth," Jazz reply was automatic.

"That's the same unsatisfactory statement Grimlock provided," Barbera's clipped tone bit across Jazz good humour.

"They got away clean?" Jazz was on the job now, all trace of cheeriness hardened.

"They were heading out before we could assemble enough forces to contemplate a cordon. Either they had good vision or good information. This footage was captured by security cameras." The footage was beamed to the two newcomers.

"Light is a real problem. Any way of cleaning up the images?" asked Jazz.

"They are cleaned up," proffered Skids. "In so far as I can in the time allowed. Our technologies can work together but not well. I believe their own technicians could perform a superior job, but that will take some time. Of course the camera angles were set to capture the images of humans."

"There's a shadow here..."

"We are running all shapes against known Transformer silhouettes."

"What do you expect me to provide?" Dead End spoke for the first time.

"You here to explain this," at Grimlock's words the images changed to some sharper images. The image paused at a familiar figure.

"And you believe that is me?"

"This footage was taken several weeks ago," Wheeljack took control of the discussion now. "Someone was able to access The Vault at Binaltech. That's keycard access for humans. It was an inside job."

 

They think it’s your fault. Menasor’s voice rang in Dead End's thoughts. He swept his sensors across the Autobots present. While he did that Grimlock, then Skids and Wheeljack transformed and stood.

They’re going to kill you, right here and now!

"Shut up!"

"Take it easy Dead End, no-one's accusing you of anything, we just need to confirm a few your movements." The persistent voice got through Dead End's calm demeanour, but he had not been aware he had spoken aloud. Concentrating for a moment he split his fenders apart, forming legs while he unfolded his arms from beneath the rear of the car and pushed himself to his feet and twisted to face the three Autobots. He could sense, but not see, Jazz beside him was now also standing.

"What gives man, he's one of us now!"

"Jazz you know if it was you in the footage we'd be having this conversation too," Wheeljack's voice

Wheeljack's full of slag, you've always known it. Menasor’s voice distracted Dead End's thoughts as he tried to discern what the engineers intent was. Don't trust Grimlock, he will shoot you. Jazz too.

"Menasor shut the frak up a minute!"

"Menasor?" Grimlock and Wheeljack spoke almost in unison.

"You ok Dead End my man?" This was the re-assuring voice of Jazz beside him. Grimlock suddenly produced his twin-rifle.

“Jazz stand back now,” said Grimlock’s firm voice.

“Why?”

It's Grimlock. Shoot him first! Kill him now, then Jazz and Wheeljack and run!

"Take him down," this was the shrill voice of Barbera. Everyone ignored her. "You hear me? Restrain that bloody Decepticon now."

SHOOT GRIMLOCK!

"FRAKKING..." Dead End's sudden exclamation died suddenly away. In The corner of his vision he suddenly became aware Skids was moving, raising his arms suddenly and something was thrown. Feeling like he'd been punched in the torso Dead End crashed downwards on his butt and fell backwards, his limbs no longer obeying his commands.

"Draining binders?" Jazz voice sounded upset. "Was that really necessary?"

"Must find truth. Strange things happening." Grimlock's voice was quiet. Dead End could still take in his surroundings but could not move anything. Menasor at least had disappeared, but the former Stunticon was left feeling betrayed and disappointed by the Autobot he thought he had befriended.

"Me Grimlock sorry for Dead End, but can not take chance," the silver and black figure continued. "Dumb human ever call Autobots rabble again, you need pressure hose to retrieve remains from Me Grimlock's foot."

 

Office 12B  
Binaltech Facility, Nevada  
Early Afternoon, Same Day

"Doctor Chase, you need to come with us now." Chip was sitting up when the door to his office burst open, revealing Willard, wearing his combat armour, but it was not over either fatigues or his more formal work uniform, but instead appeared to be a simple jumpsuit underneath the flak jacket and webbing. Willard stepped towards Chase' cot where in the early morning he had finally released himself to the respite of sleep. Willard had ordered Chase not to set his alarm. It had not been needed as Chase had wakened the moment the alert klaxons had sounded, some fifteen minutes ago. Somewhere in the distance he could hear sirens in the spaces between the klaxons shout.

The security chief slung his squared off special forces issue rifle and lifted Chase from the cot into his chair, before stepping behind to grasp the handles. He quickly started to push the lightly dressed scientists into the corridor, where he was greeted by a security team who were wearing fatigues underneath their armour.

"What is so urgent Chief?" Willard turned the chair down the passage and the team began to fan out along the far wall and held their rifles at the ready, jogging to keep pace with Willard's speed.

"Sideswipe's here." It had been twelve hours since Chase and Willard had spoken to Tracks. Tracks plainly had not wasted any time contacting the errant Autobot. "He's demanding to see you. He's caused some damage." The team slowed reaching an intersection and cautiously covered the angles around the corner. Beyond Chip remembered was the Autobot Corridor.

Willard release Chip, who put his hands down against the rubber wheels to prevent the chair from moving. Flickering light danced on the wall opposite the junction. Willard strode up to the soldier guarding the corner who had stuck enough of his body around the corner to train his rifle down the corridor out of Chip's sight. Willard tapped the troopers shoulder and he immediately ceded the position to Willard. The Chief looked down the corridor for a moment before stepping out in the open. Several troops ran behind and knelt against the far wall to give covering fire while Willard slung his rifle and held his hands apart.

"Sideswipe!"

"Where is he human?" The familiar voice echoed down the painted concrete tunnel.

"He's here. But I need to know he's in no danger."

"I only want an explanation; I'm not going to kill anyone, unless you force it on me." Chip felt another soldier behind him grasp the push handles of his chair. Willard signalled without taking his eyes off whatever he was looking at. Rounding the corner, Chip's eyes were dragged towards Sideswipe, presently facing away, looking back along the tunnel to the surface, but he was already turning back to face him. The Autobot warrior clutched his sub-rifle with a firm grip.

"Show me." The mech’s voice thundered, suddenly louder than before. Chase looked around the corridor, taking in the debris from chunks of concrete that had been blown out, presumably by Sideswipe's weapon. "I want to see what you told Tracks about, now!"

Chip had no idea what Tracks had told Sideswipe, but plainly Tracks, or Sideswipe, had inferred a little too much into his explanation.

"Willard, where's Tracks?"

"He's outside being cared for. He tried to defend the complex." Willards reply, while a whisper was clear and firm.

"Trooper, Sideswipe needs me. I will come to no harm. I'll push myself." Without looking behind him Chase started pushing his wheels, heading towards the Autobot, who now spun around again checking back towards the passage to the surface. Willard nodded at Chip, but nonetheless hung back.

As Chase pushed his chair towards the tall red figure, crouched down in the tighter confines of the corridor, he noticed water in pools across the floor, and some charring. There must have been a small fire at one point. Sideswipe had positioned himself beside the huge testing room that had once been Grimlock's prison months ago. Chip produced his own palm pilot now, and allowed himself to freewheel for a few moments while he access the projector controls for the room beyond. He had the footage installed in the projector as it was still being reviewed by the techs, looking for some vital clue. Chip keyed the pas to set the projector to run it for standard Autobot settings, the opposite wall, and scaled up to fill as much space as possible. The projector had warmed up and the standard windows screen gave way to the grainy colourised camera footage. Sideswipe turned and gave the footage his full attention, forgetting the human troops in his sudden excitement.

When the moment came, Chase hit the pause button, freezing the yellow frame in the light cast by the roof mounted spotlight. Static briefly crawled across the image and stopped, freezing the Dodge Viper binaltech frame in view. Sideswipe stared at the image intently, almost as if he was trying to look through the image, revealing its truth through sheer force of will.

The sub-rifle clattered to the floor.

Chip heard Willard's voice in the background and human troops were running towards Chip and Sideswipe, but Sideswipe no longer seemed to care.

"Willard tell you men to stand down, I don't think there will be any further problems." Chip pushed himself forward, following Sideswipe into the Autobot sized antechamber before the soldiers could get there.

"Sideswipe? What is it? We... thought this might be someone faking his appearance," The Autobot turned to look downwards at the crippled scientist. There was the strangest look on his face that Chip could not identify.

"It's him, it's really him, he's alive," the Autobot’s voice rose from a near whisper to an exultant shout.

"Sideswipe we don't want to get carried away here..."

"You think I don't know my own brother? He's alive! Sunstreaker's alive!" Chip himself turned to look at the eyes on the screen. The bright blue eyes. In the background Sideswipes joyous laughter echoed down the tunnel.


	8. Regression

_"Control; Tartarus Pits."_

_"Go ahead TP."_

_"All Units secure in cages. Data dump complete."_

_"Thank you TP. Secure all weapons and CPCs."_

_"Proceeding control... Hold... Alert Three. Unit malfunction."_

_"What is the nature of the malfunction TP?_

_"I... Hold Control... Unit One is not responding to Positron shut down. Attempting manual intervention. CPC is breaking through the inhibitors. Physical systems remain shut down but we are losing control over Unit One._

_"Prepare cognition hood for emergency overwrite of the CPC."_

 

Low Earth Orbit  
Six Months Earlier

Awareness. Whoah. Where exactly did that come from? Where the frak have I been? If I find out who is responsible for this prank... What was that sub-awareness thing? Was that what Spike meant about dreams? Irresponsible kid. Both of them. They didn't deserve to die like that.

This is familiar. It's a shuttle bridge. Why am I on a shuttle bridge? Last time I was here was with big red and the greenie and the five goons. And they jumped out. Even if he does fight right he's still a loose cannon. I mean I like a good loose cannon as much as the next bot...

Whaoh. Balance is not working. Shuttle's moving. Oh frak, the shuttle's de-orbiting. Not good. Let's have some light.

"Bridge lights on." Not working. Gimme the pilot seat. Gah it’s the frakking aristocrat. What are you doing here? Not a lot. Who else is here? Huh, one of the kids throttle buddies. The music man. Black death. Frakker. Should have known I hadn't seen the last of you. You'll keep. Hey it's Marvin the Paranoid Andriod. He's good to see at least. Who's the blue guy at the back there? Oh. You. Heh, best thing about being knocked out is you don't have four hundred questions for me. You can interrogate me later if we get through this. Whose command...

Big red? You're dead. I was at your funeral. You can't be here. How is that possible?

Ahhhhh the shuttle. Get the snob out of the pilot’s seat. Sorry bud, floor will have to do.

"Heat shields report status." Nothing.

"Heat shields report status." Still nothing. Are the instruments fried? Let’s take the stick.

"Any Autobots on this frequency please respond. Urgent assistance required." Nothing, wha... my radio's been removed? Who's the planet-pumper who did that? There is going to be murder before this day is done. Where's the ship radio?

"Jazz report please. Jazz... Wheeljack... Autobot City; Skids are you there?... Sideswipe you get on this radio right the frak now or the next time I see you I'll jam this rifle thing so far into your exhaust you'll spray fumes from your optics! SIDEY!"

FRAK!

I've got some stick response at least. Good old hard wired controls. Angle's way to steep for Earth atmosphere, but what's too shallow? Had the automatics last time. You're going to make me calculate it aren't you?

Oooohhhh kay. Easy does it. Wings level again. Feels sluggishly heavy. Got the temperature gauge at least. Hard wired again. Must have been hit by an EMP. Must be why the guys are out. They're not dead but... Cons don't have any nukes do they? Even they're not stupid to store anything that a well motivated 'bot like myself might walk in and liberate? I mean they're stupid but...

Frakking humans up to something. Four billions humans, eight billion agendas. Gah! This one's gonna be bumpy. Have to tell Sidey all about how I piloted sleeping Big Red himself into the atmosphere with no instruments. He looks different, why is that?

Finally approach angle is working. The hull is hotter than I want it, but sooner we get out of this muck. I could start having fun wi...

What in the pit? There should not be munitions in the wing pods. Ease up angle of attack, but when I ease up the heat pattern changes... if you blow up I am going to find the worst snowstorm on the planet to bury you frakking hunk of ceramic.

Temperature is finally dropping. Speed dropping. Have to find out if the automatics work. Looking good. Heh, teachers pet couldn't have done it better himself, I don't care what condition his precious brain is in.

Hey I've even got both wings still attached. Any landing you can walk away from is a good one hey? Where are we? Navigation is out, guess I'll have to stick my head out and look. Temperature is definitely dropping now. Soon as I can see out the viewports we'll flip it over and have a look at the ground.

What's that echo? How can my own thoughts echo? I'm not a Seeker with a hollow braincase for where every thought bounces around like a human child’s ball. I swear I heard Skullwarp's head rattle once. Dumb as botslag.

Getting tired. Don't need a charge I... just... woke...

NO! I'm going to land this sucker. I didn't do all that fancy flying without doing some damn fool crash at the end to frak-up the story.

Must... must...

Where...


	9. Observation

_"Control; Agent Six, cargo secure in storage."_

_"Thank you Agent Six."_

_"We still do not have enough for Stage Four."_

_"Acknowledged Agent Six. Making preparations for Raid Echo Thirty Two. Confirm status of Units."_

_"Control, Unit Three is securing now. Tartarus Pits report all other units secure. There has been no recurrence with Unit One."_

_"Put Unit One back on active roster and inform Agent One she will be utilising her Unit frame on the next mission. Remind her to submit snipers report from Echo Thirty One ASAP. Is Unit Eight prepared for scout deployment?"_

_"Control: Physical preparation is complete, Agent Eight just has to review plans for Echo Thirty Two then we can launch."_

_"Deploy when ready."_

 

Security Compound  
Binaltech Facility, Nevada  
Six weeks later

"These repeated attacks from Transformer forces; do they point to anything in your belief Lieutenant?"

"While we can't discuss investigations of an on-going nature Cathy, these Transformers do seem to be indicative of the sorts of Decepticon raids conducted 20 years ago in which damage to property was relatively light unless they encountered resistance.”

"This past week has seen an alteration in terminology used by FBI releases, no longer calling the protagonists Decepticons, but now calling them simply Transformers. Do you believe Autobots are involved or is this reflective of public attitudes towards the Autobots that have been implicated as being involved with the government?"

"I cannot answer any questions about the language of press releases Brian, nor am I aware..."

"Mute main channel."

Jazz had had enough. The Binaltech facility had been monitoring media reaction once the media got hold of images of Transformers, which Grimlock had supplied at Sacramento. Continuing stories of energy production facilities being raided had seen speculation run rampant. Public opinion had turned on the government demanding explanations, while the Autobots were being kept away from prying eyes.

Dead End was released upon Sideswipe's revelations only for the Federal government to insist on his re-incarceration, just for being a Decepticon as far as anyone could tell. Jazz recalled the question from the TV news anchor. Increasingly the humans were dropping the distinction between Autobots and Decepticons. How long would it be before the government insisted on confining the Autobots? Would it then be that much of a distinction for the humans to decide they were safer if the Autobots were not just imprisoned, but dismantled as well? Many of the 'experts' the networks provided for 'thought provoking discussion' were making cases that they were not sentient and in fact little better than toasters or 'smart bombs'. None of the Autobots could ever recall meeting any of these 'experts' or being able to have a conversation with any breakfast related electrical cooker. Skids even claimed to not know what a 'smart bomb' was and speculated if it was a euphemism for a suicide bomber. While it had given Jazz a chuckle, plainly they needed a solution, or even a break in the investigation.

The aggressive sound of a four cylinder boxer racing engine, punctuated by the gun-fire sound of a turbo pop-off valve built rapidly in the background, the noise floating in from the Autobot Corridor. The noise stopped suddenly and became the sound of shifting plates and Smokescreen dashed into the ante-chamber.

"I got it. Wheeljack was right about the reactor. We've got them." Smokescreen's face was set, determined, but his eyes held a defiant gleam. The Diversionist had been playing 'aggressor', pretending to be a theoretical adversary of the Autobots to try and determine what their next move was. The result had seen him racing from place to place, testing his, and Wheeljack’s theories. Each time he had struck out and not found any evidence of these ersatz Cybertronians. Meanwhile the attacks had continued.

"What have we got?"

"I don't think you're going to like it, but I'd suggest we wait for the others." Grimlock arrived at that moment, regarded the two Autobots briefly. Lights flickered on in the observation gallery and Willard appeared through the doorway, pushing Chase ahead of him, who looked to be struggling to come to his senses.

"Smoke start talk now."

"Let's wait for the others..."

"No, not wait. Peacestreak and others catch up." The unfolding crisis had not done Grimlock's already thin patience much good. There were times when Silverstreak’s apparent reborn naivety, if that was what it was, could test even Wheeljack’s even temperament. Sideswipe chose that moment to enter the room. It had been a long time since anyone had seen him smile, but his pronouncement that it was Sunstreaker that had been in the security footage using Sideswipes pass, and Dead End's incarceration had almost brought him back to his former self. Tracks was recuperating just fine, but it was taking a lot of Wheeljack's and Skids' attention from where it was supposed to be.

Jazz glanced towards Chase and Willard, but Smokescreen decided not to defer towards the humans and started replaying his recorded account. Without any static or preamble, a reactor complex appeared, alert klaxons were sounding in the background. There were no outside movement visible at all, until one of the more jagged artistic looking buildings moved. Rotating towards Smokescreens point-of-view, the building started walking and the figure resolved into a tall blue Binaltech frame with a distinctly familiar horned helm.

"Prowl," whispered Jazz.

"Yeah, looks like the frame is near identical to Prowl's Honda Integra frame." Smokescreen had had more time to analyse the footage. Smokescreen's camera panned across the site. There were four more frames in view, one looking very much like Hound, one like Smokescreen and two unfamiliar silhouettes. Only the 'Prowl', closest to the camera was receiving enough light to make out a colour, blue. Smokescreen's viewpoint turned to the right suddenly picking out two vehicles on the road leading away from the reactor plant. There was an emergency service vehicle there; it looked like a Police car in black and white, a Subaru like Smokescreen. Parked alongside was a Scion.

"Look like Skids."

"I would have to concour Grimlock," said the topic of conversation, having just arrived with Wheeljack. "I find this similarity disconcerting. A third party appears to have acquired the patterns to a number of templates."

"Why does the Subaru have it's lights on? That's just attracting attention?" said Wheeljack.

"It could be a false attractant," said a human voice. It was rare for Willard to speak in the presence of the Autobots, but now he was leaning over the balcony rail trying to take in as much as he could on the, for him, ridiculously large picture. "This way any early response vehicle will be drawn towards that when arriving on site looking for safety in numbers. Then the trap can be sprung and the defenders disabled quickly, giving them extra time if necessary."

"Pay careful attention to that Scion," said Smokescreen cutting off the conversation before it could develop just as Jazz turned towards the two humans. The viewpoint at the moment tightened on the boxy vehicle. With the flashing from the overhead lightbar on the Subaru it was possible to pick up flashes of a colour, or rather a lack of it. Grey or a dark metallic hue. There was movement coming from within.

"There humans?" said the gravel voiced Dinobot with an air of disgust.

"More importantly Grimms baby, what are they doing?" Jazz' voice, was slow and deliberate despite the frivolous wording. The front passenger side door of the Scion opened and the driver's door on the Subaru. The Subaru driver was in a mini-skirted Police uniform, the figure from the Scion was wearing a red and grey skirted business suit.

"Women!" This was the surprised voice of Chip Chase, a child of the '70s, some measure of sexism still made up part of his personality. It did however raise an unusual detail that Jazz had not noted. Both women were wearing ornate helmets, which enveloped their entire heads. The helmets did not have the smooth round look of motorcycle or racing helmets, but instead looked angular and functional, and also had a whip aerial mounted at the back pointing upwards. While the nature of the helmet hid any facial features, the arm and head movement indicated an animated conversation. A third figure appeared on foot from some other location. Unlike the others this one was not wearing a helmet.

"Freeze picture," commanded Willard. "Magnify and sharpen on the un-helmeted girl." As the picture tightened Jazz noticed she did appear young. She was slim, wearing tight; almost form fitting clothing, displaying a minimal amount of excess bulk. Over one shoulder was slung a long slim rifle, with a large barrel mounted scope, although the barrel itself did not look conventional for a human weapon, but Jazz could not discern why. Her features snapped into focus on the larger view. She had Asiatic features, and long dark hair pulled into a ponytail, keeping her eyes clear. She looked just barely above adolescence in age. The weapon was complete contrast.

"Run that face through the usual databases," Willard was continuing to speak; although he had turned and was looking back into the monitoring room speaking to someone Jazz could not see. "We could get lucky and find she has a file with the Bureau."

"She looks terribly young to be carrying a rifle. See if you can get our friends at Central Intelligence can help too."

"They'll check all records Doctor Chase," said Willard. "They know what they are doing. Resume please Smokescreen." The picture snapped backwards. The three women looked abruptly broke up their conversation and the rear doors of the Scion opened, revealing more helmeted figures. Smokescreen panned backwards to take in the reactor site once more. Only one frame was still visible and it was transforming into an orange coloured Jeep Wrangler. The rear of the vehicle was heavily laden with something. Vehicles raced from all parts of the reactor, passing under lights as they did, a red Dodge Ram, two Honda Integras, one grey, one blue and a black Subaru Impreza. Each of the humans climbed aboard one of the approaching vehicles drivers’ seat, and lead by the Police Subaru Impreza, the convoy drove off. One last figure remained. The unfamiliar shape stood frozen for ten minutes before turning to look over the site once more, before shifting into a Ford GT40. The incredibly conspicuous sports racing car collected the last human and started leaving the site. The low slung blue car flashed under one street light, then Smokescreen lost the car. Zooming in towards the access road there was no sign of the final vehicle passing under any of the overhead lights. The image froze, and then winked out.

"Lights," called Willard. The overhead fluorescent tubes flickered back on in their usual pattern-less sequence.

"Did the racing car just disappear or did you lose it?"

"I have no explanation, one moment it was there, the next it wasn't," said Smokescreen with some puzzlement.

"If Sunstreaker is alive, who else could be here on this world?" This was Silverstreak, having arrived late and was peering over shoulders from the back of the room.

"I'm sorry if it hurts your feelings Sideswipe, but we don't know that it is Sunstreaker."

"I know." Sideswipe's voice would brook no argument but Wheeljack's point was made.

"What if the frames were sparkless," speculated Jazz, glancing momentarily at Sideswipe. "Could those helmets those humans are wearing control the frames?"

"It's theoretically possible, but it would be an incredibly difficult task to run and maintain such a complex automaton, while still running their own human bodies," Wheeljack warmed to the subject. "So much of what we do every moment that we do subconsciously to regulate our frames, a human controller would have to replicate consciously. All of it. Energon flow. Waste management. Filtering. Cooling. Everything we once had to learn and now take for granted. Their tech ain't up to it."

"Frame exist, see much use," said Grimlock. "They need spark, maybe they find sparks."

The thought chilled the conversation into stillness.

"Jazz, that thing in the ocean you found..." Smokescreen had turned sharply to Jazz. "With Hound's..."

"What was that thing hiding?"


	10. Interception

_"All Agents, Agent Six. Unit Nine deploy. Units Four and Seven to covering positions._

_"Roger Agent Six. Scouting drive-by commencing."_

_"Acknowledged Agent Nine. All Agents be reminded we are near end program, chances of detection now increasing exponentially with continued exposure. They are not stupid. Study predicteded templates and be ready for rapid extraction. Any Units in trouble call immediately for assistance, even if unsure. And EmCon radio silence from here."_

 

Security Compound  
Binaltech Facility, Nevada  
Two weeks later

"I have been looking over the notes and data that Smokescreen and Wheeljack developed to assist in Smokescreen's search."

The chunky figure of Skids was holding forth to the assembled figures in the Autobot Hangar at Groom Lake. The dark blue figure strode across the open space across the back of the hangar exerting authority seldom seen in the theoretician, and Grimlock had been surprised by the scientists request to address the group. The full group attended, with Tracks having rejoined the group for the first time since the commemoration ceremony held here twelve months ago. Sideswipe, unrepentant for his actions looked keen to be on his way, to scour the landscape looking for Sunstreaker. Grimlock apart the rest of the group were attentive.

"Smokescreen's basic theories were sound but I have been able to refine the search parameters in a few key areas. The increasing difficulty in maintaining un-predictability, the general mobility their forces have displayed, the availability of suitable targets for their requirements, maximising chances of avoiding the presence of the human media, who would be as counter-productive for them as for us. Against these factors, and extrapolating existing behaviour, and assuming they have knowledge of the deployment of American troops..."

"They do not have that information." As previously had been the case, General Barbera was taking the conference in via satellite bounced video feed. Skids looked towards Grimlock, who nodded.

"General," Skids voice drifted from scholarly lecturer to the subtlest hints of condescending authoritarian. Chase could almost imagine Skids looking over a pair of slim spectacles at the heckler. "Neither your troops, nor the troops of the regular Army have had any success in intercepting these Binaltech frames, if that is what they are, and yet Smokescreen hit them relatively quickly. I can only assume either your troops, your intelligence unit or your communications are compromised. You can argue pride as much as you like but the numbers strongly disagree with your case."

"Now, their activity to date points towards something larger in the short to mid term. Our best estimate is they have nine frames available to them, two Prowl Honda Integra frames, two Silverstreak Subaru Impreza frames, one Dead End Dodge Viper frame, one Hound Jeep Wrangler frame, one Scion bB frame like myself and two others of a new design based on a Dodge Ram and probably a Ford GT."

"Based on energon expenditures of these frames from medical information provided by Wheeljack, and considering the Subaru frame is an older less efficient technology proving frame as well, and from the predicted amounts of energon they have had the time to refine at each site, I do not believe they have sufficient reserves for upcoming operations and will need to make another raid."

"Will they be able to achieve that reserve with a single raid?" Jazz was starting to think of Skids theories into operational planning.

"Possibly, but to extrapolate further requires more details of their plans. I do not believe we have to ability to obtain such information, as intelligence on this threat has been extremely poor. Essentially, however this is immaterial. If we can successfully intercept their next raid, then it affects their entire planning. If we can do it once, they will have to assume we can do it again. It would be foolish in the extreme for them to assume that a successful interception was based on good fortune."

"The frequency of operations, and equipment used on such operations suggests their favoured target will be here at Carter Falls Power Station."

"Why?" Wheeljack wanted to know.

"Mainly logistical, but also because it is hydro-electric it gives them a secondary kinetic source for generating synthetic energon."

"How accurate is your prediction?" Jazz asked.

"It is not. It is however more accurate than Smokescreen's hit and hope methodology."

"This will be a major operation Skids," warned Jazz.

"I can provide you with no further re-assurance. These are my findings. Any interpretations are yours."

"I'm sorry Skids, but..."

"We go." Grimlock interrupted his second loudly and firmly.

"There is insufficient information to support mounting any kind of operation," the human military officer's tone was condescending. "The Joes can not support you."

"Or will not?" Sideswipe snarled a challenge.

"Good. You not get in me Grimlock's way. Humans always less help than they think." Barbera bristled visibly and her monitor winked out.

"Grimlock you have much anger in you. With the aid of some humans I know I have develop the energon equivalent of anti-oxidants and..." Grimlock's sword blazed to life and pointed at Silverstreak.

"Peacestreak shut mouth and get rifle now," Grimlock was warming to his theme. The burst of anger dissipated slightly as he turned and started towards the corridor. "This course of action. Autobot DO, not wait and talk. All get weapons and assemble. Jazz make battle plan. We go Carter Falls now. Smokescreen, release Dead End and get him rifle, he come with."

"NO!" Sideswipe stepped towards the Mustang and Grimlock's right arm shot outwards grabbing the rebellious Viper by the neck. Powering up his arm hydraulics the silver figure flexed what musculature he still had and lifted the scarlet figure off the ground. The blue visor blazed with an intensity not seen since the days of the Dinobot.

"Grimlock sick of Buttwipe complaints. We few in number. We need many to defeat foe. You will do what me Grimlock say lest me Grimlock believe you liability and end revenge lust with sword to spark chamber now." Powering up his arm further he threw Sideswipe against the wall. The vibrations from the impact caused Willard to loose his footing on the nearby balcony and spilled Chase from his wheelchair. Sideswipe immediately pushed himself upwards with a snarl. Grimlock spun around allowing his over-exerted arm to drop limp. With the left arm he threw a punch that started a mile behind him and connected directly with Sideswipe's faceplate. The scarlet figure dropped as if gravity had suddenly multiplied. Dazed but still conscious he looked up at the Mustang with little focus as Grimlock drew his sword-hilt once more. Activating the fire-bright energon flow to the weapon, he pointed it directly at the prominent Autobot symbol in the centre of Sideswipe's chest plate.

"Do as me Grimlock says. Fight and die if me Grimlock says. Destroy fake Sunstreaker if me Grimlock says. Or die here."

There was a stunned silence. Wheeljack was the first to move, dropping to Sideswipe's side checking over the Autobots systems for damage. Sideswipe said nothing but continued to daze stupidly upwards at Grimlock. The Viper broke eye contact first though as he dazedly looked to one side at Wheeljack. Grimlock returned the hilt to his hip and turned towards the diversionist.

"Smokescreen question me Grimlock too?"

"The Joes won't like releasing him." The Subaru hedged for time, attempting to use logic on his commander.

"Then tear open hole in cell." Smokescreen grinned at the thought of a little chaos, despite his misgivings over the soundness of Grimlock's thought processes. One by one the Autobots followed Grimlock from the large chamber and out into the Autobot corridor and transformed, moving up towards the surface. Wheeljack lingered, helping Sideswipe get to his feet and heading for the door with Tracks helping on the other side. Jazz was the last to leave, gazing upwards at Chase and Willard as the security agent helped restore the scientist to his wheels and his dignity.

"What... what.." Chase was still disoriented from the force of the impact. Willard straightened and looked down at Jazz, an unspoken look in his eyes and expression.

"Jazz," Willard began but tailed off.

"Yeah," the special operations agent said quietly, respecting the conflict within Willard over his present role and his duty to inform the military for whom Jazz suspected he really worked for. "I know. You do what you feel you must. You'd do it anyway."

 

Vicinity of Carter Falls Hydro-Electric Power Station  
Carter River, Colorado  
Three days later

"C'mon Skids, you sure of those numbers?"

"They were and are as accurate as was possible to confirm Tracks, and may I point out they have not been seen at any other location. It may yet be days still before they strike here, if at all. If the inactivity frustrates you, store it up and vent it when the time comes."

"If it comes. We are wasting our time here. I don't know why I came back to you people, nothing has changed, and if anything Grim..."

"That's enough Tracks," Jazz adopted a rare authoritarian tone with the Corvette. "I know it's been a while and you're bored but keep the radio chatter to a minimum."

The Autobots had staked out the location, spreading themselves out of the town in odd places while a reserve group, composed of Grimlock, Smokescreen because of his gaudy racing sponsorship decals and Sideswipe because Grimlock refused to trust him, remained in a warehouse as close to the power station as feasible. Jazz, who spelled Grimlock from time to time, Wheeljack, Swerve, Silverstreak, Skids and Tracks roamed the township of Carter Falls, while Dead End, stationed as far from Sideswipe's influence as possible, monitored the local highway, which left the town and approached the power station.

"Silver Honda Integra on highway." Dead End's reports had been prompt, but without emotional inflection of any kind and it left Jazz wondering just what effect his brief incarceration had had on the former Stunticon. As Smokescreen predicted it was problematic getting the humans to release him, but Smokescreen only had to draw his rifle to get Dead End's gaolers to release him. The incident however had leaked to the human press and the last few days’ anti-Autobot hysteria had gained mainstream credibility and there was open discussion on whether the UN should kick the Autobots off planet. The fact that there was no vehicle suitable to carry them into orbit, much less leave the system had not mattered in the slightest to the hate-mongers. While Senators and Congressmen and women had jumped on the bandwagon, the White House had made no official comment either in support or condemnation. They had however said a great deal on the issue through minor staffers in the form of official leaks as no doubt the White House Press Secretary fought to keep the White House neutral in the public debate without losing ground in opinion polls.

Grimlock's attitude towards humans had soured even further and had now ordered all Autobots to avoid all contact with any humans and to ignore any communications, including their closest allies at the Groom Lake Binaltech facility and G.I. Joe Command. As Jazz continued to roll through the streets of Carter Falls, he continued to monitor the internet on his own connection, which he hoped, was not being monitored in order to track his location, neither Silverstreak or Wheeljack could provide definitive answer on communications security. Thought pieces were being published widely in blogs, ranging from the conciliatory to the hysterical and video footage from the pre-digital days of open war in the 1980's was now appearing on the Web. Somewhere someone in the professional media was contributing to the problem, probably deliberately. There could be hundreds of reasons. Omega Supreme might have stepped on their house. A relative might have been wounded or killed by Starscream. Optimus Prime might have ignored a request for an interview. There were a thousand reasons.

"Silver Honda Integra has turned off highway and on to Power Station access road." Energon pumps suddenly started spinning faster. This was one of the tripwires. Thanks to Smokescreen's detective work, they had some vehicle templates, and a silver Integra was not owned by a member of Power Station staff that they could determine. It could be a false alarm, but it could not be ignored.

"Deploy pattern Zeta. Two closest Autobots proceed promptly to Dead Ends location." Jazz could see that was Swerve and himself. All the other Autobots would now start to converge on the power station, slowly however. Chances were high that the mysterious enemy had their templates too. Dead End was a risk, Vipers so aggressively styled were not common but distance from Sidewsipe has needed and the Decepticon was certainly efficient in his monitoring role.

Jazz turned onto the road that would become the highway, moving a vigorous speed, speeding illegally, but keeping within a 20% margin. Up ahead he could see the bright red Corvette appear from the first on ramp as the road became concrete lined near the edge of the CBD. Swerve was ignoring the margin and raced away from Jazz sight, ducking between traffic, his tail wagging like a dog as he tried to hang on to his own vehicular performance.

"Jazz..."

"Emcom people," Jazz reminded Dead End with a touch of annoyance. The Decepticon would soon see Swerve if he had not already and was probably wondering if he should follow the Honda. There was still a possibility it was a false alarm. Jazz hoped fervently that Swerve remembered that. Jazz drove past the warehouse where those off duty, or unable to take it, rested. Grimlock's long silver form was exiting the open door, but Jazz had only a glimpse from the overpass.

"Entering access road." Swerve at least was being circumspect with his wording. The Corvette was out of his own range, somewhere ahead and he had to resist the temptation to unleash his power on the bitumen.

"The Honda is now emerging from the power station car park, I ummmm, I guess I'll intercept it now." Swerve's voice was losing confidence as the metallurgist realised just how alone he was with an unknown threat.

"Be careful of false alarms!" Jazz made his voice sound as urgent as he could. He crested a rise on the highway overlooking the base of the plant. It was too late however. As he watched, the Corvettes trunk split apart, followed by the engine bay. The former resolved itself into arms, the latter into legs and Swerve spun himself upright to face the Honda. Swerve's missile racks pointed downwards at the Honda and the former Mini-bot brought his twin-barrelled rifle to bear.

"Damn!" Jazz cursed to himself. Jazz focussed as much attention as he could on the semi-distant confrontation but soon lost sight as he raced into a dip. What had Swerve done?

 

Swerve looked down at the vehicle, which distinctly did not transform, and a woman sat at the wheel screaming.

"Ummm guys I think this might be a false alarm." All of Swerve's confidence left him as he scanned the vehicle. The woman was dressed strangely in a kind of padded one-piece jumpsuit of some kind, like a motorcyclists leathers but Swerve knew nothing of human fashions. Maybe it was just fashionable. The car looked innocent and here he was exposing himself in front of this poor apparently hysterical woman. She was reaching into the back seat for something.

"Oh look ma'am I'm real sorry, I hope you don't think too much into this." The Corvette lowered his rifle. The woman had grabbed a... stylised helmet of some ki…

"AHHHHHHH" Swerve screamed and fell. The pain was terrible. He'd been shot, twice, from two varying directions at the same moment. "Help" he muttered weakly. More shots continued to pound into him. Swerve took cover behind the Honda and got a look at one of his assailants. In the near distance was an orange version of Hound, firing away with a stubby blaster pistol. The Honda now scorched off, heading towards the highway. The orange figure folded back into a Jeep and disappeared across country.

Weak now to the point of unconscious ness, Swerve turned. A blue and white bot was looking down at him from close range. The Autobot symbol was there, and the head, the head was familiar. Blue and white with a touch of yellow. Swerve was reminded of the aristocratic sniper who faded in and out of conversation almost while you weren't looking and had numerous hunting trophies aboard the Ark.

"Mirage?" Swerve whispered painfully. The bot shot Swerve missile racks, disabling them. The gun refocused at Swerve's head and the barrel glinted in the sunlight.

"Mirage? Don't you remember Swerve?" The glint became a bright light.

Pain.

Black.

 

"There are three of them. The Jeep is already disappearing across country I can not follow."

"Stop that Honda Dead End. Grimlock you guys following?"

"We coming, but you Jazz must stop silver thing." Jazz approached the intersection rapidly as ahead of him Dead End's bonnet split and formed into legs, the Decepticon rising from the Viper to great the on rushing car. Jazz looked at the closing speed; the Honda would get there first. Just as Dead End brought his rifle to bear, a volley of shots streaked in from the right, collecting the former Stunticon across the torso. Focussing on the oncoming Honda, Dead End must have taken his eyes off the third frame that was now running away from an unmoving Swerve. The shots continued blasting Dead End backwards off the shoulder and down the small embankment. The Honda raced past the falling Dead End, but Jazz was in pursuit now until rifle fire sprayed up his right side doors.

Out of control Jazz skidded across the tarmac, spinning, deliberately and turn the spin into a transformation, rising to meet the blue and white bot. Incoming fire prevented him from reaching his rifle as he transformer, the weapon, still folded up as his exhaust muffled clattered to a halt across the pavement. Jazz fell to his knees, bringing his arms up to cover himself as he started to move into a roll that would roll him across his rifle when the blue and white mech lost resolution and faded from sight.

And Jazz was alone again. He cursed a human curse loudly, invoking an extremely personal human act in four short letters.

Dead End was groaning off to his right as Sideswipe burst into view over the closest crest with Grimlock in pursuit. Smokescreen was behind them and Jazz was hit with inspiration.

"Smokey! Go! There's an orange jeep escaping across country, it's a Hound frame, go!" The rally car did not acknowledge but immediately left the highway, cutting the corner across the open land, bouncing at speed across the rough undulations of the land, briefly launching airborne off the kerb as he crossed the access road. Sideswipe raced on past Jazz, heading in the direction of the vanished Honda. The silver Mustang pulled up alongside Jazz

"Dead End not much good at stopping frame."

"Leave him Grimms, he got caught transforming. It's happened to you before."

"Ahhh." Sideswipes voice. There was a long pause. "Frakking Ford GT40 just crashed me off the road into a tree."

"You OK?"

"Yeah, the Honda's getting away." Grimlock lit up his rear tyres and raced away from Jazz, as the second Mustang of Wheeljack appeared from the city.

"Damn you Grimlock and your pride," said Jazz to himself as the two Mustangs disappeared over the crest. A silver Subaru flashed past, not even pausing. Maybe it was Silverstreak, maybe it was a human street racer foolishly chasing in a drift race that Wheeljack cared not a jot for.

"They've gotten away clean." Jazz said the words, just as a new option occurred to him. "Alpha Zero-Two to Juliet Command."

"Juliet Command, purpose of message."

"You know who I am brother, get me General Barbera pronto. We gots ourselves a situation here."


	11. Dissemination

_"Control, Agent Six. All Units now free of pursuit, and are RTB."_

_"Agent Six, directly?"_

_"Negative, compromise procedures in effect."_

_"Acknowledged Agent Six. Be warned in event of finding trouble Watchtower is offline at this time. Initial analysis?"_

_"Control, we have been visually compromised, guessing; observed during previous raid but not intercepted at that time. This was an elaborate but under-resourced entrapment attempt. When will Watchtower cover return?"_

_"Visual monitoring is active but no offensive support. Towershock technically compromised. Defend exposed units with extreme prejudice or self-destruct if unable to return unobserved."_

 

Carter Falls Hydro-Electric Power Station  
Carter River, Colorado  
Five minutes later

"We have been ordered to arrest and prosecute any Autobot we can find. We can not help you even under favourable conditions." Barbera's voice was surprisingly calm, considering those orders would lead to actions she must have seriously contemplated since taking command of the Joes. Jazz only wished he could match her composure. He knew he should have terminated the call two minutes ago, but he was desperate, and intrigued more than a touch as to why she was even taking the call, unless she was triangulating Jazz position. Either way Swerve was going to have a tough time. Skids continued to work at his wounds, welding and gluing rough patches to where ever the Corvette was leaking and trying to stabilise his erratically pulsing spark.

"General, they know we're on to them now. Every damn cat is already fightin' us, we won't have the chance to adapt to whatever tactics they change too if we don't nab them now. You have to get a sky-peeper on that Hoonda. Use me as a base point. I'm hangin' around at the end of the Carter Falls Hydro Power road thing." This was desperation; willingly giving not just his position but Skids and Swerve as well. While Jazz could transform and escape, and Skids could too, he did not want to abandon the former Minibot for any reason.

"We know exactly where you are Jazz, we've been watching you via satellite for the last four hours." Liquid nitrogen poured across Jazz' processor and ran down his neural-loom. He spun his head rapidly through 360 degrees, looking for any possibility of G.I. Joe ground units closing on the trio of mechs. "We are not going to attack you Jazz. We are just trying to keep track of you."

"General please." Jazz voice now lost all of his 'Joe Cool' quirkiness. Even Jazz knew there was a time and place.

"We've been tracking vehicles heading away from the firefight. There were three, the orange vehicle we lost due to overhead vegetation west of the station, maybe Smokescreen can catch it, but I doubt it. The blue one literally faded into invisibility. The silver one we still have."

"General," Jazz spoke slowly and clearly. "Send pursuit instructions to Wheeljack. You don't have any units in the vicinity, let us help you. There are enough of us that we can construct an effective tailing operation."

"Switch channels. Protocol Alpha-seven."

"Switching..." Jazz performed the manipulation of his communications suite. "General..."

"Shut up for a moment Jazz," said Barbera. "I recognise the need for co-operation but others, especially those above me will not. I was promoted to this position because General Hawk let the Joes get away with far too much and had been in danger of creating an outfit that might rebel against the chain of command. this is exactly the sort of behaviour they wanted me to prevent."

"They aren't here."

"No they're not. There are conditions. The moment Grimlock says a word to me the deal is off and I deny everything."

"OK. General I have wounded here."

"If they can't move it will be beyond my ability to help or protect them. You keep me constantly informed of your actions, and if a firefight is to get underway you are to wait for Joe assistance."

"If I can't talk to the Grim Reaper about you, how do I stop him?"

"Improvise Jazz. We have to all the time."

"OK you got yourselves a Pors... a Mazda." Jazz corrected himself, but his voice remained pessimistic in tone. It was all very well for Barbera to make such demands of him when Grimlock would just follow his spark and his rage anyway.

 

"Just keep Grimlock from attacking that Honda."

Smokescreen glared, in so far that he could. How the frag could anyone hold back the slamming Dinobot?

"Pump you Jazz."

"Yeah and I'm a big fan of your work too Smokey. You're the lateral thinker, get it done, and don't lose the Ark to the Vegas bookies doing it. We have to know where that Honda is going."

"You'll be pleased to know the orange Jeep Wrangler has joined in. No sign of the Ford GT."

"Stay damn sharp boy. If that thing does have Mirage's abilities he could be anywhere."

"You are a wee ray of sunshine you know that Jazz?"

"Yeah? Well you haven't seen Swerve's injuries yet." With that Jazz clicked off. Smokescreen thought to himself, then fed extra power to the ersatz boxer four cylinder engine he'd been supplied with by the folks at Subaru Heavy Industries. With a surge the Subaru leapt forward down the highway, searching to catch up with the Autobots racing down the freeway. Up ahead several Autobots were strung out in the pursuit. Ever fleet of foot Silverstreak led the way with the two Mustangs of Grimlock and Wheeljack close behind. Sideswipe was next, moving slightly gingerly for the moment after his encounter with the ersatz Mirage, with Dead End behind, not moving any closer to the 'Bot who wanted his braincase mounted as a trophy. The rest of the Autobots were scattered behind him, Jazz just leaving where Skids, now alone, was tending to Swerve's injuries. Considering what Jazz had told him, it was quite the selfless act on Skids behalf as he was essentially refusing to leave Swerve even though human security forces would almost certain shortly arrive at the scene and detain them.

Smokescreen mentally shook his himself in a rather human attempt to clear his thought processes. Human thought processes often appealed to Smokescreen. Their behaviour towards taking risk disproportionate to the potential reward had fascinated him and eventually he became the Autobots local expert at risk management, although in his case it appeared to be taking risks rather than advising others not to.

Sending more power through his motive power unit, he picked up the pace, lowering his suspension now that he was racing along tarmac instead of chasing the orange version of Hound through the vegetation. He closed in and overtook Dead End without comment before moving up along Sideswipe.

"How ya movin' Sides? The roulette wheel still turnin’ for you?" The left side of the Autobot carried several scars from his automotive shoving match.

"I'll move better when I catch the frakker," the Viper griped. "He just bashed me into a tree. A tree! Lucky I can drive at all. I can feel my alignment is out..."

"But you can fight."

"Hell yeah."

"Make the best speed you can, and if Dead End comes up to pass you, you will let it happen without comment."

"Or you'll what?"

"Just don't go there Sides. Be professional."

"I've got more motivation for that than you know." Smokescreen regarded the Viper. The last line was cryptic and intriguing, but for the moment Smokescreen had to but it out of his mind. With no further comment he pushed the power and raced away from the limping Viper.

"Dead End, stop skulking back there behind Sideswipe. He won't harm you if you overtake him." Smokescreen did not check on the Decepticon's progress. The odds were against the Decepticon believing him. It was a low stakes bet anyway.

After thirty minutes hard driving he caught up to the chase. There was only the blue Ford in the chase of Silverstreak and the Mustang pair.

"Jacks, where's the other two?"

"Smokes?"

"Yeah."

"This one has been running slowly, keeping the rest of us back while the others get away."

"You know why don't you?”

“Yeah, Jazz filled me in on the invisibility thing."

"Does Grimlock know?" Wheeljack paused before replying to Smokescreen.”

"Don't think so. Should we really be doing an end run around our Commander like this?"

"Sometimes my one eyed Jack, you have to ignore the stakes and go with instinct and let the cards fall where they may. You know that Kenny Rogers song?"

"The one where his house burns down and his dog runs away?"

"No the other one. It doesn't matter. We have to get past this frakker." At that moment the Ford GT lurched and slowed markedly, twitching towards Grimlock, forcing him to baulk into another lane as a slower car approached and Grimlock had to jump hard on the brakes to stop from hitting the slower vehicle. The Ford reversed his lurch to the left and pushed towards Silverstreak who maintained velocity but moved to the left to give the Ford more room. The blue sportscar took that room and pushed further gradually edging Silverstreak towards the lanes of oncoming traffic. Too aware of humans approaching down that lane, eventually the Subaru was forced to give ground. Smokescreen and Wheeljack were forced to dodge around the two suddenly decelerating silver Autobots.

Smokescreen looked at the traffic ahead of him, and saw his opportunity. The bookmaker within Smokescreen's mind momentarily contemplated the odds but quickly discarded it. As he said to Wheeljack moments ago, sometimes you go for the play and let the cards fall where they may. Putting on a burst of acceleration he launched suddenly past the Ford GT, racing sharply ahead. Pouring every spurt of speed he could he raced past an open backed utility truck before snatching on his hand brake cable, lurching himself across the path of the truck, spinning as he did so, bracing for the impact to come. The truck lurched onto its own brakes but could not avoid hitting the garishly garnished Subaru, climbing up and onto the back end of the car, destroying the large cheese grater wing spoiler and the boot area. Smokescreen howled in pain as his 'feet' were painfully crushed by the trucks momentum. The truck was spinning now and bracing for a secondary broadside impact Smokescreen stopped as best as he was able. The truck lurched, clipping Smokescreen with just enough force that the rapidly slowing truck tipped into a slow roll, landing on its side with a tearing crash.

Behind, the road was suddenly blocked and Wheeljack, Grimlock, Silverstreak and the Ford GT were forced into avoiding action. The Mustangs ran to the left, briefly crossing into the lanes of oncoming traffic without hitting anything. Silverstreak chased the GT to the right onto the grass verge.

Smokescreen had transformed, painfully, and grabbed in his hands that which he saw as his high risk special weapon. Grabbing the downed cargo from the truck, Smokescreen partially crushed and burst open several paint tins and hurled them towards the grass verge, spraying the liquid colorant across the open air.

He almost missed, the low slung sportscar dived underneath the spray but enough of the white fluid was airborne that the paint splattered across the rear of the car as it descended. The truck lurched again as Silverstreak, having been spooked into a panic transformation by the unknown assault heading in front of him slid into the truck.

Smokescreen punched the air and cried out with pain and triumph.

"Wheeljack, let the Jeep and the Honda go, but don't lose the Ford - that paint splatter will stay visible if the Ford doesn't. Track that car; let it drive defensively enough the let the others get away."

"You paintballed it?"

"Yeah."

"You freaky, lucky..."

"Played for and got my friend. Now excuse me a moment, I hurt quite a bit."


	12. Trepidation

_"Control, Agent Six. Base location is compromised. The Autobots have found us. Our force is split and Units Four, Seven and Nine are retreating into the Mountain."_

_"Agent Six, sitrep!"_

_"Control, I have instructed Agents Four, Seven and Nine to try to draw them deeper into the tunnels while I assemble a covering force to cut off their retreat and then slug it out. We will take casualties but they will be in a substantially poorer tactical position."_

_"Proceed with reservation. Stand by to have all staff evacuate."_

Unnamed Mountain  
Rocky Mountain Range, Colorado  
Three hours later

Smokescreen and Jazz were the last to arrive. They arrived together and both transformed, although Smokescreen's mangled trunk meant he could not stand unaided, leaving the white Mazda to help the diversionary tactician to his feet.

"Now we go." Grimlock had no patience left. It had been all Wheeljack could do to stop the Mustang from charging straight into the tunnels when the Dinobot, the Engineer and Silverstreak had arrived in pursuit of the invisible Ford. Dead End thought back to the when Grimlock had first opened up to him. Full of doubt, full of pain, searching for a path. After the incident in Central America the Grimlock of old had been rekindled. Focussed on a new path, taking up a leadership mantle he had long courted. Once upon a time he had been an ambitious military commander, then a glorified gang leader stymied in his ambitions, but nonetheless revelling in the chaos he created. More recently after his forced retemplating into a human constructed Binaltech he became suicidally depressive, before twisting himself into the Mech he was now. This new crisis had restored some of his uglier traits however, those that had caused so much fear in Decepticon ranks.

It had taken hate to do it.

Grimlock hated the Decepticon cause, this much Dead End knew from conversations with the silver figure. He believed in a form of warriors' code that Megatron would never understand or care about. Grimlock hated Megatron on a personal level. And Starscream. And Shockwave, Soundwave and several other senior Decepticon leaders. That personal element had helped the fire to burn. However the new leadership of Galvatron, Cyclonus and Razorclaw lacked personal involvement for Grimlock, and his focus had drifted. Grimlock bore no malice towards the rank and file of Decepticon warriors, only to the badge they wore. This was the core of his relationship with the Dinobot. Dead End was a lowly Gestalt component and had the added benefit of not having any allegiance or friendship with any of Grimlock's rival within the Autobot command structure.

Dead End looked over at the Mech he had befriended in the months since his former team mate Wildrider had betrayed and destroyed the Stunticons. The Mustang's body betrayed what the expressionless mask did not. Dead End liked to think he had Grimlock figured out. The Binaltech frames were built by humans, and now it appeared that they might be controlling these frames. While Wheeljack had discounted the possibility Grimlock had no love for humans, they were beneath him. He did not trust them and he felt sure they did not trust the aliens in their midst. If they could control one of these Binaltech frames remotely, would it be much of an extension to control something else? Like Grimlock himself?

He was afraid of the humans.

The concept did not thrill Dead End greatly, but he was used to the concept of someone else being in control of his own situation. Bullied by Motormaster. By Megatron. By Razorclaw. And of course physically controlled by Menasor.

Grimlock is becoming unhinged.

The slight prod of memory had disturbed Menasor.

Remember, you are still a Decepticon, he will use you for cannon fodder over his Autobot palls. You are expendable.

Dead End shifted uneasily. He shifted his attention towards the mountain. Rising sharply out the the ground the rock edifice shot upwards. At its base was a large vehicle sized tunnel. There was fencing, the remnants of a security gate and a road which connected eventually to an abandoned section of interstate and essentially went nowhere. It was all decades out of use with advanced decay set in with everything in sight.

And Wheeljack had tracked the invisible Ford GT here.

"For some reason my link to the Binaltech Intranet is still active," Jazz voice did not carry much of an air of conviction, as if he was hiding something, or not telling the whole truth. For an experienced special operative, the Mazda was looking decidedly uneasy about something.

Jazz wants you dead too.

"From the military archives this place was an old underground shelter built by the Air Farce. It was supposed to be a command and control centre. It was abandoned for geological reasons and moved further North to Cheyenne Mountain and became NORAD. It was intended to provide a large base able to withstand a direct hit from a fission weapon."

There was a pause and everyone was silent. Even Menasor's presence retreated from mention of the ancient taboos.

"We go in," Grimlock broke the reverie. His mid-section rotated as his arms rose into his chest. Wheeljack, Jazz, Sideswipe and Tracks followed suit and transformed, Smokescreen taking longer in his damaged shape.

"Coming Decepticon?"

Sideswipe's going to kill you!

"Sideswipe! Look Dead End don't mind him. We need you."

"We do not."

"I... I'm fine Jazz," Dead End replied with a confidence he did not feel. Raising his arms above his head and squeezing his legs together, the former Stunticon shifted into the form of the black Dodge Viper he had become, causing so much pain to many along the way.

You don't have to be alone. Let me assist you. Lend you strength.

"Menasor, you are dead, now leave me be."

There will come a time when you will call for help. Iw ill be there to help you. I will stay true to you when all others do not.

"You alright Dead End?" Wheeljack's inquisitive voice appeared. Had Dead end spoken aloud? And was Menasor becoming more articulate?

"Stop talk and follow." The silver Mustang suited actions to words and drove into the dark chasm in the Mountain.

 

There was no light within, only what the Cybertronians headlights could pick up. One way or another they would know they were coming. That seemed not to matter to Grimlock who led from the front deeper into the tunnel as the light from the entrance faded and disappeared. To one side and immediately behind sat Wheeljack, the engineer regarding his commander warily. It would not be the first time a heedless Dinobot had lead his force into a trap not caring because he knew he and his fellow Dinobots could fight their way out of any trap. Wheeljack knew only too well however after the grievous wounds he had received in the battle for Autobot City just how tenuous life can be. The situation was worse now in these human constructed frames built using what alloys were available to human metallurgy. Swerve could be the most gentle of sparks but if you ever wanted to get him to say something harsh then engage him in a conversation on human metallurgy.

Wheeljack continued to probe the darkness ahead of Grimlock. Jazz liked to rag Wheeljack about his non-convention cranial armour. One thing he had never told Jazz was the two side projections, and the bands across the lower half of his face were useful as sensors. When you blow yourself up enough times studying weapons systems, you learn ways to give yourself as much warning as possible. That plus they also doubled as sacrificial armour for his lower face. He went through a lot of it though. His alternate mode also bristled with external sensors, even to the point of replacing two of his headlights with sensor radiators.

"Slow Grimlock, junction ahead."

"What see?" Wheeljack thought on Grimlock's request. A three way junction rapidly resolved in front of them. One passage veered more steeply downwards to the left, while a rightwards passage become little more than an alcove. The blankness troubled Wheeljack. On one hand it looked like a short alcove, but other sensors hinted inconclusively at 'blank spot'. The main passage continued onwards towards an opening to what appeared to be a large gallery.

"Time to do a 'Wheeljack'." The white Mustang popped a door open and a small floating sphere flew out and hovered in the air.

"What in the blazes is that?" asked Jazz quietly.

"It was one of Ravage's little sensor 'bees'. After detonating several trying to get them open I got this one open and re-programmed it to be my 'bee'. It can investigate this passage here." The bee, a single light strobing in the darkness, floated down the passage to the left and disappeared from sight.

"We go." The group moved off again towards as the tunnel opened out into a large gallery, presumably excavated for the rooms that were never installed. There was plenty of room to stand up and walk around with many items of construction equipment scattered around, all decades old.

"Wait," Wheeljack u-turned quickly, and pointed back up the tunnel towards the surface. "The bee has found... Unicron's horns I'm picking up sparks... I think. I have to check this out."

"I'll go with piped up Jazz and the Mazda turned and raced back up the tunnel in Wheeljack's wake. Wheeljack again briefly regarded the funny feeling he got from the alcove before moving down the path on his right, deeper into the system. Behind them unnoticed there was a rustling sound from the alcove and the sound of shifting plates and mechanisms.

And a white smear of paint hovering in mid air. It moved out of the alcove and headed for the open gallery.

 

"Wheeljack back here!" Grimlock's voice echoed noisily in the open room.

"Where do we go now?" Smokescreen transformed and stood leaning against a wall by the entrance. Grimlock followed suit and then the others stood looking around the large chamber. Smokescreen, followed by Silverstreak, and then after a pause Grimlock, lit up their headlamps which were now chest mounted and played it around the 'room'. The lights, while powerful, were just small white points in the night. Panning circles of blue-white light across machinery and vehicles.

"Half a mo, I've got my rally pod here." Dead End looked across at the rally car. The light from his headlights flickered as his arms moved across his body, reaching for the extra light pod rally cars use for night rallying. Dead End looked across to the right. Silverstreak's lights picked up reflection from a vehicles chromed bull bar.

At chest height.

Swindle?

Dead End knew Swindle was dead. He had seen the body. They were not good memories. Ravage. Shockwave.

Wildrider.

Wildrider?

Menasor wanted Wildrider to be alive. More of Menasor around then. It wasn’t Swindle. But what then?

"Silverstreak, back to your left please."

"Don't listen to the Decepticon." Sideswipe's voice was surprisingly close.

"Your pardon Sideswipe?" Silverstreak's lights played crazily back to the red Viper.

He's sneaking up on you.

"Silverstreak..."

"Streak's got a dud pair," Smokescreen sounded buoyant, "Where as I have a full house." The five spots of Smokescreen's rally pod blazed into life. Five extra sets of beams splashed across the room.

The room was lined with Mechs.

An orange version of Swindle reached out to grab Sideswipe, while he caught flashes of yellow beyond the Viper.

"Prowl you do not have to do this." Two copies of Prowl, one blue and one grey lurched towards Silverstreak. There were two more Subaru frames, one black and one white moving towards Grimlock. The Ford GT they had seen before shimmered into existing and transformed to its feet and leapt towards Tracks.

Dead End sensed someone behind him. Dead End turned. There where a utility vehicle had sat dismissed and ignored no was a bulky figure in red, with projections of some kind jutting from shoulder blades. That was all Dead End had time to register.

Not him. He's dead!

Menasor had time to register something else. As the arms reached for Dead End, the former Stunticon latched onto a vision of a blue armoured cranium with a silver face plate that was shockingly and frighteningly familiar to any who had ever worn the violet mask of the Decepticons.

It was Optimus Prime.


	13. Altercation

_"Control, Agent Six. Autobots engaged. There are six of them. We have the firepower to suppress them."_

_"Agent Six, do not engage them close quarters, they will have better control of the frames."_

_"Negative Control, ambush the best way. Agent Seven reports two of them heading towards the power station."_

_"All stations: signal for evacuation of all non-essential staff. Begin activation of Delta Units for protection of power generation systems. Fuel ememrgency Watchtower evacuation."_

_"Control, Delta Units are not yet proven to be reliable."_

_"Irrelevant Agent Six you will buy the time for evacuation to proceed, sacrifice all units of neccesary."_

Unnamed Mountain  
Rocky Mountain Range, Colorado

Smokescreen watched in horror as the enemies hand came face up on the table, revealing the nine figures. Sideswipe and Grimlock were busy facing two foes while Silverstreak was at the point of being overwhelmed, his peaceful instincts over-ridden as the Bluestreak of old was suddenly, forcibly brought back to the surface. Tracks was winning the fight with his single foe, while Dead End was almost blubbering with fear retreating from the spectre. A twitch of the rally pod in the Decepticons revealing the shape of the foe he was fighting, the shape of the much loved fallen leader.

"Oh Optimus, that's not fair. No skifters like that please." Smokescreen, momentarily left alone by the fighting had time to bring his rifle to bear and brought it up to sight at Silverstreak's fight. A flash of star bright energy and the blue version of Prowl staggered backwards, giving the silver Subaru time to push the silver Prowl backwards, falling backwards over its wounded twin with a crash.

"Autobots! To me! To me!" Silversteak fought his way backwards, pushing hard at the yellow Viper frame which had become visible lurching towards Sideswipe.

"Leave Sunstreaker be," growled Sideswipe at Silverstreak, not taking his optics away from the orange Hound frame which was trying to bring its pistol to bear on Sideswipe. "Go help Grimlock." Smokescreen fired again, hitting the black and with Subaru frame, perilously close to Grimlock. Smashing the black Subaru to one side with a heavy right cross gave the Mustang some space. Silverstreak grabbed Grimlock by one arm and started to drag the former Dinobot backwards.

"Grimlock, Sideswipe get back here, defensive position, Tracks how are you?"

"No problem," Tracks got a hand free to raise his own sub-rifle. Smokescreen turned back towards Dead End. The Decepticon was in full retreat before the aparition of ages past. Smokescreen paused. That is not Optimus. Optimus died. Here on Earth, heroically giving his all. Nonetheless Smokescreen still asked Primus to forgive him. The shot took the figure in red in the chest, throwing it back on the ground. With more and more guns in evidence the two sides began to draw away from each other, sniping from behind machinery, except for Tracks, gamely fighting on against an opponent he frequently could not see.

"Tracks! Get out of there!" Smokescreen turned to the others. "At my command, fire on the empty space around Tracks." Sideswipe raised his sub-rifle at Smokescreen's command. Grimlock tore himself free of Silverstreak's grasp as they neared Smokescreen's position. In one smoothe motion Grimlock produced his sword hilt and the Energo sword glowed to life and swung in Tracks direction. Tracks distracted for moment, his head and one missile rack tracked in the direction of the sword as it swung out and loped off a forearm that suddenly gained visibility, followed by the rest of the unfamiliar frame.

"Or, you could do that," admitted Smokescreen. "Get back here! Sideswipe covering fire!"

"Me Grimlock tired of not-real Autobots." Grimlock looked more focussed than at any time in the last few months. But before Grimlock could say anything else, Wheeljack's voice burst across the frequency.

"Don't kill them. They're..."

 

As the passageway descended it gradually became lighter. Wheeljack was not comfortable. Ravage's bee had reported some findings indicating the possibility of sparks down this passage and then after producing, the only way Wheeljack could describe it was an excited outburst, the bee had gone silent. To catch the agile bee meant something down here was worth investigating. In the distance the sound of hydraulics started up and immediately began fading, although the noise was constant, as if something was travelling away. The tunnel started to flar out into a chamber that was well lit. The majority of the chamber appeared to be beyond a sharp corner in the widening tunnel. Wheeljack extinguished his headlights, followed shortly by Jazz' lights behind him.

Wheeljack edge around the corner. There was no-one about. The bee had reported the presence of humans, but they were gone now. Wheeljack could hear a low sound right on the threshhold of audibility. The wall disappeared on the left side apart form a human sized barrier.

"There ain't no cat about," Jazz pronounced. The familiar sound of transformation occurred and Jazz stood walking past and over Wheeljack. Once clear Wheeljack followed suit. "There's a nuclear reactor down here." Jazz had glanced of over the edge, spotting equipment familiar enough from the contact with humans. Wheeljack glanced down. It was obviously incomplete and defunct, showing similar signs of age and decay as the outside of the facility had. Some of the control panels away from the reactor showed life however.

Wheeljack stared around him. The panel work of the corridors around the power generation chamber were metallic but they did not look constructed. Lines flowed into one another in graceful, but unsymmetrical curves. It looked like something that had been grown, then plated over. More likely it had been extruded in liquid form then cooled, or solidified depending on how the molten state was maintained. Jazz had turned to examine an alcove large enough to house himself.

"Lotsa loose cables here, big ones too. Why is that?" Jazz mumbled to himself.

Turning a corner Wheeljack looked into the next alcove finding an object jutting from the wall. He heard a gasp, never realising it was his own. A large yellow angular foot stuck from the wall at upper torso level, stretching upwards were thick square yellow and black legs. A trapezoidal torso, again themed yellow but with several clear panels and a pair of black and yellow arms with yellow fists and contrasting red shoulders.

A large domed black helmet rose from the shoulders with two large yellow tinged vents each side and a faded silver fluting from behind against a silver face. It was instantly familiar.

"Jazz..."

"I know. We'd better get Sideswipe down here. Is Sunstreaker functional?"

"I... I am not sure." This was not the yellow Binaltech figure the others had encountered. This was the frame Sunstreaker had worn during the Terran Wars, the bright yellow Lamborghini Countach that had been such a source of pride for the braggart. The frame was pitted and scarred, while holes and rents recurring regularly on his devastated frame left unrepaired after the brutal assault of Menasor. His chest was compromised and the spark chamber was absent. There was energon moving through his frame, but no sign of a spark or any intelligence behind the dull blue eyes. Wheeljack looked beyond to see another figure welded into the wall.

"Dear Primus Jazz, there's more of them. The small blue faced figure of the aristocratic Mirage slumped insofar as he could while being apparently part of the wall. Beyond was a figure Wheeljack found vaguely familiar. Jazz' visor turned suddenly on sight of it and Wheeljack suddenly recalled a dark figure of the Porsche influenced frame Jazz once wore. Beyond Ricochet, was the white and red figure of Red Alert and then over-tall figure of Blaster, his long grey legs dangling free of the wall, reaching almost to the floor.

"Grimlock! Don't kill them. They're Autobots. They are our guys! Frak! I'm being jammed."

"All this time, they've been alive," muttered Jazz. "Did you get through?"

"I don't know. We'll have to leave them here, we can't rescue them all. Probably not even one of them." Wheeljack was torn. So many friends thought lost. Some on Cybertron, some from Ultra Magnus shuttle.

"Prime!" Something about Jazz' whispered epithet got through Wheeljack's reverie and he moved quickly to join his long time friend, moving past the gentle groaning figure of the Thottlebot Rollbar, expecting the see the flame motif figure of Rodimus Prime stuck in this metallic prison. He found Jazz staring upwards from his knees. Looking up Wheeljack too gasped. Seemingly melted into the ceiling work, pipes and cables reaching from every limb and melting flush into the ceiling was a familiar red torsoed figure. The legs and helmet were not streamlined shades of orange and yellow however, but blocky and blue.

"It can't be!" Nevertheless Wheeljack's sensors reported what the analytical part of his mind rejected. The figure, hovering like the others between life and death was a myth, a legend, a commander and a friend.

"How?" Wheeljack had no answer for Jazz' question. But there was one thing Wheeljack was certain of.

It was Optimus Prime.

 

Dead End fired again back in the direction he had come from sensing movement beyond an abandoned drill tank. Grimlock was back in command now, directing fire, accurately and well. It seemed giving the Dinobot something he could focus all of his energies on

Beware Grimlock. He will be rid of you if he can find the excuse.

The ongoing battle gave Dead End the excuse to ignore Menasors ravings. The nagging doubt though remained.

"Need secondary fire position. We get pinned here."

"I'll go."

"Bent feet you not run good. Wheeljack say Dead End better armour. He go, Silverstreak support."

"What?" Dead End was suddenly fearful of this development. More than he thought he would be. He also saw the next protected position. The amount of fire about he knew he wasn't fast enough.

SEE! He will have you killed. US killed!

"Grimlock, I can't make it across there and Optimus Prime is..."

"It is NOT Optimus Prime," Grimlock's anger was almost a physical force. "Dead End press attack now!"

"No I will not Grimlock. This is madness." Dead End felt his hackles rising at the situation. No-one was listening to him. Grimlock turned and looked across at Dead End, anger emanating from the former Dinobot, despite the impassiveness of his features.

"Move Decepticon butt," cried the Dinobot, the full force of his righteous anger behind his words. And there it was. Decepticon. For all of Grimlock's protestations of friendship, he was an Autobot hard-liner to the core. Dead End knew exactly how Grimlock felt towards humans, was it that much of a step towards rekindling old feelings of hatred towards Decepticons? Menasor was right. They were out to get him. He was cannon fodder to be sacrificed in a tight corner for their survival. Menasor had been right all along.

Something partially dormant within Dead End exulted. It was not any repressed form of Dead End's former personality. It was not even Menasor. It was a third presence skulking at the back of Dead End's mind. First Menasor's remnant had to be overcome, but that was comparatively easy next to the fully active mind of Dead End. Gradually over the months and weeks he had chipped away at Dead End's personality and confidence. Increasing his paranoia, and hiding behind the identity of Menasor, he woke the former Stunticon early from rest cycles, increasing fatigue and wearing him down. Chipping away until Dead End acknowledged him and accepted him. Logic gates opened and a dormant intelligence flooded across Dead End's higher functions, burning and over-writing, destroying the Stunticon trying to find a new life away from the sub-servitude of Decepticon soldiery.

An unknown power from unknown origins flooded through Dead End's systems and the being within laughed to himself. At last he was free. Free from the imprisonment of the dullard he had tried so hard to erase. Free to feel the corporeal form once more. And free to gain his revenge on this small force of Autobot fools.

Grimlock turned far too late as Dead End raised his sub-rifle and shot the former Dinobot. With everyone else pointing down range at the not-familiar figures they found themselves suddenly covered by their comrade.

"What are you doing Dead End?" yelled Smokescreen, his head moving constantly, searching for some method of distraction to try and assemble a retreat of some kind. Dead End's eyes had turned dark and red and actually smouldered.

"Dead End no longer controls this frame," said a suddenly deepened, multilayered and multifaceted voice that some of the Autobots found shockingly familiar. Grimlock, turning to look from his prone position on the floor felt rather than saw as his sub-rifle fell from a nerveless grasp in astonishment as the silver highlights on the dark figure shifted and became a venomous bright yellow. Sideswipe's eyes blazed.

"You bastrds," he roared, hauling his sub-rifle away from his target towards this new manifestation. "This is why. You wouldn't let me kill him and we left the gate open."

"For who? For Menasor?" Silverstreak did not have the familiarity the others did. Dead End straightened his posture and spread his legs slightly, standing on the edge of his feet momentarily until he lifted off the ground, eventually hovering the height of a human above the ground. The sub rifle fell forgotten from an outstretched hand, surplus to requirements. Energon leaked and sparked from those two dark red eyes and sparks leapt and danced between spread fingers. Sideswipe spoke again, his own voice dropping an octave but filled nonetheless with a determination not to fall before the demoniacally altered Decepticon, the darkened vision of his lost brother, a loss still keen despite the years that now separated them.

"It's Decepticharge."


	14. Activation

_"Control, Agent Six. The Autobots have surrendered."_

_"Agent Six, explain details."_

_"Control, one of their number has betrayed them to us and wants a new frame for himself in exchange."_

_"Are we in a position to execute it?"_

_"Negative Control. The frame... we had believed it to be Dead End but is now calling itself Decepticharge, is exhibiting Supernatural powers, even for a transformer. Several of the Autobots are quite afraid of it. It also carries a Decepticon logo instead of an Autobot logo. It has_   
_identified Unit Ten for itself."_

_"Go along with it for now. Have it executed the moment the possibility appears. Have the Autobots brought down to the Tartarus Pits for conversion. Activate all trainee agents for possible mating with frames. Stand down evacuation procedures, but remain at alert stations."_

 

Unnamed Mountain  
Rocky Mountain Range, Colorado  
Outer chamber of unfinished Air Force base  
The 'Tartarus Pits'

The black and yellow frame, Junko was sure it had been black and silver, was now nestled into the alcove at the outer edge of the Tartarus Pits. The Autobots had been line up against the wall and forced to sit on their knees. Their arms were not restricted from movement but they all knew how vulnerable and stationary they were as targets. Junko looked across the small group and shivered. Despite all her contact with these metallic leviathans there was something about these that badly unsettled her. Particularly the all silver one with a face plate instead of a recognisable humanoid face. There was something about it that projected a promise of violence.

Junko shivered. Standing above her, the involuntary action caused Unit One to vibrate slightly. Junko Shirakami was older than some of the agents around her. In scattered groups of twos and threes the female agents moved around the entrance to the Tartarus Pits, keeping as close as possible to the friendly Unit frames, particularly Unit Three, the grey Scion mini-people mover which tended to act as a base station for the Agents when the were fully focussed on controlling the Units. Unit Three has a particularly useful communications suite which allowed all of the Units to react more freely with each other, without fear of hitting each other by accident. Until Unit Three's conversation the Unit frames had tended to operate more independently of one another. Junko had remembered long days in the Arizona desert, monitoring a single back road off an interstate highway, each time pleasantly refusing all offers of help from every other drooling male who happened along the road. Unit Three's conversion had been quite a boon.

Junko Shirakami looked up once again at her charge. Outwardly her Unit looked every bit like the 'Decepticharge' but in negative, the yellow and black swapped. A more aesthetically pleasing result she was sure. She knew she had the best looking Unit out of all the bipedal warrior tanks. It was such a shame she couldn't get the cutting compound she liked anymore. It was important to look ones best. Junko tugged absent mindedly at a loose lock of blue hair, at least she could get the right dye for that! She looked across at the other Agents. Lumina Hoshii, as always, had a small amount of tinny music leaking from her control helmet as she walked past Junko without acknowledgement towards her beloved Unit Three. She had spent an entire week of downtime a few months back customising Unit Three's dashboard with an mp3 compatible car stereo.

Atari and Unit Five were supervising the prisoners. The towering black Subaru held a rifle in each great gauntlet and studied the prisoners closely. Atari was not much of a conversationalist lately, and her animosity towards Junko had increased. Fine. Be like that. Just don't come running to me for help. Damn Unit Five. You'll keep. Melissa Fairborne, the only Caucasian in the team was with her. She had become quite the bossy britches since becoming the Agent most often used as a raid commander, and as Control's favourite. The large red bulk of Unit Six also held its large compact weapon pointed at the prisoners.

Lumina had reached Ai Kurumi and Elizabeth Twoyoungmen. Ai was moving her head back and forth with great rapidity and with exaggerated arm movements. She must have been indulging in one of her manic lectures. Elizabeth, as normal, looked static and relaxed, her American Indian features composed and watchful. She actually had her helmet open and seemed to be observing everything about the room in minute detail, paying little attention to Ai's point. Ai, perhaps sensing this turned her attention towards the approaching Lumina. Elizabeth's gaze swept across Junko for a moment and the gaze paused, briefly, leaving Junko feeling as if she had been analysed by an ancient Indian Shaman. Junko turned to look towards the Tartarus Pits, where some of the Units, including Ai's Unit Two, were being prepped for cage storage for maintenance and powerdown. Elizabeth's Unit Eight was not there. The blue Honda Integra was actually installing Decepticharge into the conversion machine, but had paused and was looking right at her. Junko blinked, and Unit Eight's head was facing towards Decepticharge, checking over the connection points. Had she imagined the direction of Unit Eights gaze?

Looking back at Elizabeth the gaze had moved on.

Junko, at 21, had an age and experience advantage over most of the girls in the Agent programme. For some reasons younger girls were appreciated for directing the gargantuan Asterisk Units, their heritage as Transformers designs had not become evident until the first confrontation just 24 hours ago. Frankly the similarity between her unit and Decepticharge she found disturbing. It had become obvious the Units were not mere automatons. Which raised the question, did these Asterisk units have brains and personalities? If so, how were they affecting their Agent controllers. A strand of blue hair dropped irritatingly across here view. The bright blue was fading now, it was time for another colour. The money though was worthy it to look this good. Junko paused briefly, she never used to be this vain about her appearance, but that was before. Since Control had taken her in many years before her mind and body had become honed and toned, trained in the martial arts. Weapons training had followed before the promise of being paired with one of the gargantuan units. She had been first in line for the prototype Unit Zero, but her physical and mental training had reached a crucial juncture when Unit Zero was ready for activation. So her training partner Rei Ayanami had been promoted in her place.

Unit Zero's activation had been traumatic. Unit Zero's initial behaviour had stabilised and Rei appeared to have control over the violet Cyclops, but at some point Rei had started screaming. Junko had put her helmet on and had tuned in to listen passively to the process she would undergo once Unit One's canary coloured body was complete. Unit Zero had walked over to point its mauve laser hand at Control himself. The Unit then shifted its aim and using two weapons laid waste to the activation chamber. In the confusion the robot had transformed into a Mazda RX8 and escaped, but evacuation was no under way. The facility was wrecked and burning with many dead. Control hurriedly got everyone evacuated, including the partially completed Unit One while emergency services arrived. The entire operation had been forced to leave Japan for America.

Junko had been told Rei had been killed in the building collapse and fire. She knew that was not the case. But even with those thoughts she had put those fears aside for her own trail when Unit One went on line. One of the techs had told her as she was strapped into the activation couch, the first step towards mentally binding to her unit that there would be no repeat of what happened to Unit Zero. The inhibitors had been completely redesigned. But now Junko asked herself what were they inhibiting?

Crissy Cole, Agent Ten, was pleading with the techs. Her Unit was being taken away from her. Imagining what taking Unit One away would mean to her she felt a strong pang of sympathy for the Vietnamese-Australian. With only one conversion chamber available, usually only one was needed, Unit Ten stood upright against the back wall. Unit Ten, a flame red coloured clone of Unit Seven stood leaning against the wall, its joints locked to keep it from collapsing.

Elizabeth had her helmet closed now and was gazing upwards towards Decepticharge's dark bronze face. Unit Eight too was gazing deep into the smouldering eyes of the Decepticon. Unit Eight was ready to grab the spark chamber from Decepticharge when it had the clearance to do so, and thrust into the vacant chamber on Unit Ten. The Spark Chamber, Junko had no idea of the origin of the name, looked swollen in Decepticharge. Junko wondered what affect that had on the Decepticon.

"Get this thing out of my face," snarled Decepticharge in the odd multi-layered voice. "Are we ready? I want to be rid of this frame, rid of the puerile voices this frame is plagued with.

"Control, Agent Eight, we are ready to begin."

Junko looked upwards as Unit Eight started to manipulate some controls on the larger chamber as some of the techs laboured over a panel near the base of the chamber. Power started to shudder through the systems of the conversion chamber. A random thought suddenly occurred to Junko.

"Agent Six, Agent One, aren't there supposed to be more of them than six?"

"There are two more downstairs near storage. They are being taken care of."

"By who?"

"Control has activated the Delta Units."

"But they don't have Agents for their operation."

"They don't need them. That's why they are Delta units. Their on board systems are sufficient to control themselves."

Despite being thirty metres apart and the fully enveloping helmets obscuring faces she could see the look on Melissa's face. She had too much faith in Controls ability to be on top of all developments. Junko herself had great faith in Control, but she was aware that things occasionally could go very wrong. Self determining Unit frames were a step too far she thought.

Power was now thrumming through Unit Ten. Two of the Autobots were using the commotion to hold a conversation. Junko move Unit One closer to them, brandishing her sub-rifle threateningly. The blue one shrank back away from the silver one that made her feel nervous earlier.

Elizabeth started screaming.

“Rei?” Junko called involuntarily. It was Unit Zero all over again. But wait... Elizabeth wasn't connected to Unit Ten or Decepticharge.

“No,” the voice came from Unit Eight shockingly. “This is wrong. Smokescreen execute your plan now.”


	15. Protection

_"Control, All Delta Units. Initiate activation sequence. Function, protect the facility from incursion. Several humans in bipedal armour have penetrated the facility, identification details are being forwarded as an attachment. There are two enemy units in your immediate vicinity. Delta One and Delta Two are to attack them only to get past them and assist our Units in the Tartarus pits. Delta Three is to engage and defeat the two units in proximity. If possible salvage for conversion, but not essential._

_"Delta Three Confirms."_

Unnamed Mountain  
Rocky Mountain Range, Colorado  
Lower galleries of abandoned Air Force facility  
Power Generation Chamber

"Jazz, what did you touch?" Wheeljack realised he was becoming paranoid. For the last several minutes he could hear noises which sounded like something powering up.

"Nuthin' man, hey this is me." Jazz attempt at cheer strangled and died a forlorn death in the gloomy atmosphere, soaked up in the sounds around them. Wheeljack could sense there were in danger but the source defied analysis.

Beyond the frames of their friends, buried into the walls, providing power for this base from the systems which provided them with life, there had been another chamber. A wall had slid back flush into the fittings, revealing another chamber beyond. Neither were particularly keen to explore further. There were two hissing sounds of something depressurising, or re-pressurising. Then a single stomped footfall.

The sound of a transformers foot on metal.

"'Jack?" Jazz voice was filled with trepidation. His rifle rose slowly.

"Yeah, I know." There was the sound of shifting plates, grinding and tucking. Then the sound of automotive engines revving. Wheeljack had his own twin barrelled rifle pointed in the same direction but now he drew his sword, holding it in his off hand. Headlights snapped on and turned to face them. Tyres squealed and first a Honda Civic, then a Jaguar XJS raced from the opening and drove at them. Wheeljack did not wait and started firing as the Jaguar raced towards him, the Honda picking Jazz. The pair absorbed the incoming fire and transformed, leaping at their enemies. The Jaguar shifted and distorted, forming not into a typical Cybertronian form but into a Panther like shape. The head was familiar, but dented as if it had taken a savage beating. A voice snarled a hissing growl and the figure leapt at Wheeljack. A single word forming in the engineers mind.

Ravage!

 

Jazz sprayed fire at the incoming figure, only picking up the Decepticon logo late in the piece as the figure transformed and stood. Jazz tried up until the last second to keep the red and black figure at bay before the figure round and blocky fist swung around and connected on Jazz cranial armour. The force of the blow picked him up and slammed him across the room like a cartoon superhero. He could feel his cranial armour cracked and gapped in several places, his visor shattered.

The force of that blow was stunning. Shakily, the Mazda stood, still blocking the path of the Honda. Jazz shook his head, shaking some wires loose that they might find their connections and rejoin. A piece of visor fell and clattered tinnily to the floor. Jazz hit his headlights to help his now unfiltered gaze pick out the Decepticon. The shorter mech was stepping towards Jazz once again, powering up another swing. Jazz mind screamed a warning as it took in the size and shape of those fists. They weren't fists, they were huge cylindrical rams, like pile drivers.

Piledrivers!

Rumble!

Jazz ducked back suddenly, letting the elevated right cross sail by his chin...

... and was smashed in his right side and the Decepticon brought his left ram into Jazz side. All kinds of alerts sprang on in Jazz onboard medical diagnostic. His system dropped a large load of energon into his system to attempt to compensate for the pain and disability.

Jazz shock his head, attempt to clear rattled components and allow severed connections to find each others ends and reconnect. Rumble’s piledrivers were pounding the floor, tumbling Wheeljack off his feet while the more sure footed Ravage stayed upright on all four feet.

Ravage? Ravage was dead! Prowl beat him to near to death before Ravage exploded his own weapon taking him and Prowl to the Allspark. Jazz struggled to stand but found Ravage leaping towards him, the Jaguars two forepaws hitting Jazz's exaggerated Mazda breastplate and knocking him to one side while Rumble smashed Jazz feet from under him and the pair raced away up the tunnel.

"Jazz!" Wheeljack was quickly by Jazz' side.

"I'll be fine Jackie boy." Wheeljack helped Jazz to stand and he sagged against the wall. The sheer effort of the fight had sapped his energies and his internal systems had switched to limp mode once the fight was done. Wheeljack's audio receptors glowed gently as his own self-repair systems moved from reset into action.

"Did you figure out why he was familiar?" asked Wheeljack.

"The piledrivers. It had to be Rumble."

"Rumble? That scragger never shut up in a fight. He was quiet as a zombie." Wheeljack turned to move closer to the prone figure on the floor of the chamber. Jazz looked away from Wheeljack and back towards his friends stuck into the construct around them. It occurred to Jazz that the room was not symmetrical.

"Do you really think that was Ravage? Wasn't he killed?"

"I don't have answers for you Jazz, other than to remind you his Corvette corpse back at the vault has no head."

"Alright then, supposing it was Rumble, what was he doing here?" Wheeljack's voice floated towards Jazz from behind as he stepped towards a wall section that was more alcove than wall, and was not replicated on the other side.

"Guarding something?"

"Guarding what?" Wheeljack's tired voice grew a new sharpness and Jazz could hear the engineer's legs moving and scraping on the floor behind him. All of Jazz' senses were heightened and he wasn't sure why, but as he reached out to touch the half panel covering the upper half of the alcove the Mazda felt he could hear everything in the room. Touching the panel caused to to retract rapidly in sections into the ceiling and a hulking purple-grey frame fell forward towards Jazz. Somebody yelped in surprise. Jazz surprised himself by discovering it was him.

Wheeljack was at his side in moment, hauling the large frame off Jazz. The frame was familiar. Calming over-exerted systems, but for the moment Jazz couldn't place it.

"It's Shockwave!" The engineer was right. It was definitely the battered form of the Decepticon Operations Commander, the scourge of the Decepticon occupation. Without his arms and the distinctive gun hand Jazz had not picked up immediately. Then Jazz remembered the last time he had seen Shockwave he had worn a different frame, one identical to his own.

"This is his old frame," Jazz speculated aloud. "Remember the fight he had with Grimlock when we were covering Magnus' shuttle launch?"

"Yes," said the engineer slowly. "That must have been why he needed a binaltech frame." The two stood in silence for a moment regarding the battered and decayed corpse.

"You know what's more alarming than finding Shockwave in the closet?" asked Wheeljack thoughtfully.

"What?"

"Finding half of Shockwave. Where are his arms?"

"I noticed that. That gun hand of his packed a lot of power."

"Looks like a fair chunk of his internals have been stripped too. He was a lot lighter than I would have expected. What could you do with..." A loud hissing, gas escaping under pressure sounded from the chamber where Ravage and Rumble had emerged from.

"That's another CR chamber." One heavy tread, followed quickly by another echoed up the passage towards them. A large shadow appeared.

"Jazz you remember back in the old days, wherever there was Rumble there was another right behind?" Wheeljack's voice was full of foreboding. Jazz remembered a tall blue mech, with a dead voice more in common with Teletran than any living Cybertronian he had ever met. Cold, emotionless, ruthless, with the downright spooky ability to anticipate your own moves in hand to hand combat, as if he could read your mind. With a cadre of fiercely loyal mini-warriors to surround himself with. Next to Megatron himself, the most formidable Decepticon you could face. Not even Starscream could inspire the same levels of dread.

"On your feet Special Operations Agent!" said Wheeljack. Wheeljack proffered a hand and hauled Jazz upright. The figure emerged slowly into the light, a large bulky frame, black on black, with some light metallic blue highlights, and an imitation copy of Optimus Prime's head, but the familiar faceplate suggested another face-plated warrior. The Decepticon logo picked out in violet at his shoulder glinted in reflected light against the black background. A heavy blaster sat in an enormous black gauntlet.

"If that is who I think it is, I'll need your help."

"Attention!" The cold flat voice echoed up the tunnel. Jazz brought his rifle to bear alongside Wheejack clutching his double blaster and grimly holding his activated energo sword in his off hand.

"You will die here. For I shall be the nemesis of all who stand in the way of the Prime."

 

Wheeljack stared back and felt some form of riposte was recquired.

"Do your worst, we will stop you Soundwave, you cold cased, sparkless husk!" He felt Jazz straighten slightly and lean away from Wheeljack's frame attempting to stand independently, and to provide two targets. The black behemoth broke into a dead run straight at the two Autobots. Wheeljack fired, Jazz quickly following suit. The weapons fire slowed and punctured the great black figure but not enough and he boiled into the pair, knocking Jazz flat with the first punch to the cranial armour. Wheeljack tried to swing his sword around but found one hand clamped around the off hand holding the sword. Wheeljack brought his right hand around, having dropped his double blaster, and started pounding on the dark mechs cranial armour from the side. The faceless Decepticon shrugged off the blows, continuing to bend Wheeljack's sword arm backwards.

Sensing the futility of the action, Wheeljack spun in the opposite direction and handed off the sword to his right hand and brought it around as fast as he could. Not having the time to do it properly the sword thudded into the dark mech on the flat side. The black figure nonetheless grunted with pain as energy discharged into him at the point of impact, those dark red eyes twinkling as sparks of energon raced across his frame. With an incoherent snarl the menacing figure, still firmly gripping Wheeljack's left arm, flung Wheeljack against the rear wall of the chamber where he had emerged from, torquing the arm out of its socket for a moment causing Wheeljack's cranial projections to glow bright in the darkened room from radiated pain.

The dazed Wheeljack heard the report from an energy weapon and turned to see Jazz firing his own weapon. The mech darted to one side, ripping open a small panel and pulling from beyond a gleaming gold sword. Heavily patterned and ornate it looked useless as a weapon, with no real blade to speak of. It looked like it had two pommel guards and a heavy ridge extended along the flat of the triangular piece which looked most like a blade. A drop of a golden fluid fell from one serrations near the tip.

Golden liquid? Electrum?

"Jazz! That sword is coated in electrum!" Wheeljack dived after his double blaster, dragging his sword after him in the near nerveless grip of his dislocated shoulder. He was up and firing, as Jazz reeled from trying to catch the descending blade with the breech of his rifle. Wheeljack was firing again, but the dark mech spun, his heavy blaster suddenly in his hand and a powerful beam smashed Wheeljack backwards once more.

As Wheeljack climbed to his feet he glimpsed something familiar in the room beyond. Despite the risk he turned to briefly look at it with the full gaze of both optics. Recognition came quickly and a dark maw opened in the pit of his internals.

"Oh Primus no. Primus no, no, no, no, no."

He turned back towards the battle. The dark monster was still facing towards Wheeljack. Jazz had his rifle up and aim in the middle of the big mechs back where Wheeljack had noticed a crack in the behemoths armour.

"Unicron's horns. Jazz! No! It's NOT SOUNDWAVE!"

The cry had been instinctive, without thinking of the consequences. Jazz was distracted at the crucial moment and the golden sword swung in a great arc, thudding into Jazz' side. The Mazda howled in exquisite uncontrolled pain with a gaping, sparking wound in his side. The black mech turned once more to Wheeljack as Jazz crashed to the floor and lay unmoving.

"How could you?" Wheeljack was distraught. He could not see Jazz face and the binaltech frames did not turn grey like Cybertronian frames did but there was no movement at all. No sign that he functioned at all.

"How could you? That's Jazz! He was your friend! All those years you shared trenches? How could you?" Wheeljack could not bring himself to raise his double blaster, despite the peril he knew himself to be in. He had never, not even during his suffering from the grievous wounds during the battle for Autobot City, felt such despair. The engineer looked up at his would be executioner as he approached, that sharp edged golden bludgeon in hand. Wheeljack found he could not resist. He suddenly realised why humans would collapse and sob. That was how he felt. He wished he could find in these last moments that release.

The golden sword was raised.

"For Primus sake. That you could do this while Optimus watches you. How could you?"


	16. Nemesis Prime

_A message was received, a beckon, a call for help, protect the Prime!_

_System activation began. Hibernation systems deactivated. Power flooded through hydraulic systems. Pumps sped up to redline before slowing to idle. Energon flow, once at a trickle, rapidly built up speed as pumps spooled up. A spark once dormant, grew bright. Two dark blue eyes flared and settled, bright as a summers day._

_The soldier returned to life once more._

_Once, the soldier was an officer with no equal. Racing through the ranks despite relative age, his abilities for tactics, delegation and field command were without equal. In time he became the leading general of his army._

_When his leader fell, he was ready to take supreme command, but he was passed over in favour of an archivist. He accepted the decision and became a mentor for the young leader, a set of powerful shoulders to help carry the burden. They became friends as well as colleagues, and trusted each other implicity._

_Until the dark times. His great friend left on an desperate expedition of hope, leaving the soldier in command as the dark times approached. A command which then shrank year by year, his people driven further and further underground, crimped by enemy forces and by starvation, each day one step closer to extinction._

_Each year there were fewer and fewer and the enemy grew stronger and the pain of the loss never receeded. No-one ever lost faith in his ability to command, and if anything, that made the growing list of failures even more painful. The soldier had no confidant to confide in. He had to be strong by himself. But it was not enough._

_Even after his friend returned, shifting the tide along with it, providing inspiration where the soldier could not. It was a brief resurgence. In a time of desperation the great commander died, his sacrifice saving the battle that the soldier could not._

_On his deathbed, his best friend, his commander had entrusted in him that which he had valued most. The Matrix of Leadership, the symbol, and the actuality of the stewardship of his people, to lead them through the dark times and be ready for hour of greatest need._

_But Galvatron had taken the Matrix from him and destroyed him in the process. Some miracle of the junk planet had saved him, but the baton of leadership has passed, and while he had paused, thinking on his own personal fortune, another had picked up the torch._

_In the years to come he had remained in the inner circle, but he was plagued by something no commander could ever afford to have._

_Doubt._

_Then came the time of the resurrection, and eager to restore his confidence, he followed his old friend back to Earth, to correct another of his failures, to find those who had been left behind all those years ago. Another failed responsibility. He had been piloting when disaster had struck. Leaving the aristocrat behind to fly the ship he had raced to the engine room to fix what had gone wrong._

_The saboteur was still there, using his piledrivers to keep him at bay his work was completed and the engine was dead, unable to be repaired quickly. Those deadly piledrivers shattered his cranial armour, exposing delicate braincase, but the saboteur was defeated. Too late. All within the shuttle were doomed, dooomed to either a fiery death in re-entry or to a shattering impact far below on the surface._

_Then there was nothing. Until revival._

_His Prime was there, not in presence, but in word and thought. All could be set right. All he had to do was protect. Protect the Prime while he did what was neccessary to be done. This was important. Supremely important. He would be the nemesis of those trying to prevent. He was given a new frame, every bit as powerful as the Prime himself. He was rechristened as a Prime, a recognition of the valiant efforts for all those centuries and a chance for redemption._

_You, he said, will be Nemesis Prime._

_Grasping the heavy blaster at his side a huge heavy black leg stepped forward with a crash, leaving the hibernation chamber. There were voices nearby, potential threats to the security of the Prime. The time had come, and has enemies would feel his magnified grasp. Weight was transferred and the left leg, a huge metallic tower in black stepped forward. The distant voices stopped._

_Well might they be wary, for I shall be their nemesis. For Optimus, I will defend you. I will not fail you again._


	17. Evacuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Authors note: This chapter is best read while listening to Chris Cornell song "You Know My Name" from the motion picture "Casino Royale".

_"Control, Agent Six. The Autobots are loose. Fighting has broken out in the Tartarus Pits. Units Two, Five and Seven are down."_

_"All personnel, Silo Tower begin final launch procedures. White Tower 3 countdown commencing, 300 and counting. Secure LOX fuel. Communications to switch to Hub Two. Unit Three weapons free and release to defence. All personnel not involved in facility defence to evacuate immediately. All Watchtower personal abandon positions immediately and report to evacuation stations. God speed to us all. We serve a higher purpose this day, we must be bold 'ere that the meek may finally inherit the Earth. The penitent will achieve salvation. Amen."_

_"Control, Agent One, Agent Eight is compromised. We have lost control of Unit Eight."_

_"Control, Agent One respond."_

_"CONTROL!?"_

 

Unnamed Mountain  
Rocky Mountain Range, Colorado  
Outer chamber of unfinished Air Force base  
The 'Tartarus Pits'

_If you take a life do you know what you'll give?_

The blue Honda Integra frame turned to look more closely while the American Indian featured Agent screeched, clutching the side of her helmet, here eyes bulging frantically. A look of concentration flashed across the face that looked so much like their lost colleague Prowl, and the Agent dropped to the floor in a nerveless pile of limbs. The ever fragile thread of life severed, bringing momentary shame to the tall armoured figure. As precious as life was, there were priorities. He would mourn later the human who had walked across his mind.

_Odds are, you won't like what it is_

A look of distaste momentarily crossed those features and he turned to look at Smokescreen. The female Asterisk Agents were all looking at their colleague, the attention of their attendant units wavering as they comprehended the sudden horror of their potential vulnerability. Smokescreen looked up at those features and a flash of inspiration memories of the Autobot most determined to learn by observation Smokescreen's ability to play the edge of probability. He mouthed the detectives name silently and the blue Honda inclined his head in affirmation.

_When the storm arrives, would you be seen with me?_

Smokescreen gave a feral grin as the air on his shoulder distorted. With the yellow Viper, the black Subaru and the hulking figure in red distracted the rally car called his missile launcher into the reality of this artificial world beneath the rock. Nudging Grimlock with an elbow as hard as he dared Smokescreen fired the missile into the sunken pit beyond the gallery containing the macabre equipment bolted to what was left of Dead End.

_By the merciless eyes of deceit?_

"Watch those Autobot fools!" The demon within Dead End's frame yelled a warning, far too late as the facility rocked to the shattering force of the missile's explosion. Two of the young helmeted women gasped with pain as two of the Unit frames that had been powered down for storage crashed to the floor of their cages. Golden globes of energy coalesced around the Decepticons fists.

_I've seen angels fall from blinding heights_

Grimlock was up and moving faster than Smokescreen would have given him credit for. The blank featured Mustang crash tackled the black Subaru, taking down both of its guns before it was ready to properly respond. The yellow Viper turned and began to track fire at the prisoners, for the moment erratic fire, as Junko struggled to come to terms with what was happening around her.

_But you yourself are nothing so divine_

The hulking red figure carrying the helm of their legendary former commander was moving belatedly, reaching outwards with the enormously calibered pistol it carried. Silverstreak needed all of the speed Blustreak was famed for to get two hands raised to block the path of the blaster. The distress on his face stood out. Beside him Tracks was on his feet, heading towards the abandoned pile of their weapons.

_Just next in line_

Sideswipe was moving as quickly as Grimlock, with less warning, but still had farther to travel to reach the ghostly apparition from his past made solid and real and the weapons fire struck one of Smokescreen's arms. A black and yellow leg flashed out and caught Sideswipe across the chin, crashing the scarlet warrior to the deck short of his intended target while the golden figure pirouetted on its other leg, copying the spin kick imitated by Shirakami's tiny figure behind the tall Unit frame.

_Arm yourself because no-one else here will save you_

Stretched full length, the lame Subaru had reached the pile of discarded weapons, scattered after Tracks had made his raid and grabbed and tossed as he could. Silverstreak's rifle fell into his open grasp. His confidence with weapons returning in his desperation to keep the huge figure from over running him. Grimacing with reluctance, Silverstreak brought the butt of his newly acquired rifle across the faceplate of the behemoth. Sideswipe's sub-rifle fell and clattered while Sideswipe himself pushed himself to his knees. His golden hued copy was distracted for a moment as another mech was moving from the direction of the spark transference equipment.

_The odds will betray you_

A cluster of the female agents scattered as their sanctuary unfolded and stood. The grey squared off people mover becoming a red highlighted Skids like figure. His small firearm flashed and the blue detective was hit as he sought to come to Sideswipe's aid. Nightbeat crashed to the floor, twisting he looked to see the azure Corvette turning to point his twin barrelled blaster at Dead End. He fired and a ragged, smoking hole opened in Dead End's chest armour.

"Tracks! There!"

"What? Who the frak are you?" The Chevrolet was partially distracted, now trying to load a missile to one of his over-shoulder racks.

"It's Nightbeat. Stop Blaster!"

"Blast... how do you... argh." Tracks credulity stretched to breaking point had paused too long and the grey Scion singled him out for attack.

_And I will replace you_

"I have yet to determine your identity," Turning away from the Corvette now that he knew where the threat came from, Nightbeat spoke to himself but referred to the bright red frame, abandoned and inanimate propped up against the wall, open for anyone to shoot. "For the moment it would be safer for you to be away from the firing line."

A hand under each shoulder the Honda Integra unceremoniously dragged the mech-husk under cover, before standing to move to find who needed most assistance. Keeping a low profile after his initial outburst, Dead End's eyes blazed with Decepticharge's greed at the sudden proximity of that which the terrorist most desired. Stretching the extra-sensory abilities granted to him by the faux heart of Cybertron, Decepticharge used loose cables, and animated them. The empty Binaltech frame was dragged towards the Frankenstien apparatus under cover of the fighting.

_You can't deny the prize it may never fulfill you_

Smokescreen had his rifle up and tracking towards the yellow Dodge Viper frame recovering to its feet only to see Sideswipe sprint across his view, obscuring the shot.

"Leave him be!" Even though the warrior had his back to Smokescreen, the Subaru could feel the red Viper radiating a rage as hot as the colour of his livery.

"It's not Sunstreaker," the diversionist pleaded. "This is not the time for..."

"Smokescreen, halt," Nightbeat stopped by the crippled rally car. Each of these mechs are like me. The process, I do not completely understand, but that one," the Honda had integrated with Smokescreen's sensor array and indicated with a marker one of the fallen humans, no longer attended by a retinue of Control Agents, suddenly motivated by their own survival instincts.

"That one held me in thrall, controlling my actions and dancing to the tune of her master. The proverbial puppet on a string."

_It longs to kill you_

Sideswipe staggered backwards as his golden opponent followed through on a wicked right cross. To Nightbeat's eyes the two performed a bizarre ballet as two perfect warriors moved with such deadly style and grace. Nightbeat could only admire the performance of the human who was making the canary figure move.

"Are you saying that IS Sunstreaker?"

"That is leaping to conclusions. Just because it looks like you would expect Sunstreaker to look like, does not mean it has does not have someone else's spark within. That having been said, Sunstreaker was not on the shuttle."

"Shuttle? But Of course! The Navy's submerged ghost that Jazz went chasing. How did you get here?"

"We were ambushed in the upper atmosphere by an on-board saboteur, then we and the shuttle were disabled by an electromagnetic pulse. How we got through the atmosphere I do not know, we all would have been off line, even Prime."

"Rodimus is a pretty tough customer."

"No, not Hot Rod. Optimus Prime. He lives again."

_Are you willing to die?_

"How did you free yourself?" The Diversionist and the Detective's minds raced in a brief moment of respite in the conflict around them as the pair updated each other. Nightbeat estimated he himself would have to leave this conversation in just over a second to relieve a mech he had identified with 86% certainty was Grimlock in his fight with another mech he believed (48%) to be Ricochet.

"I'm not proud of that. You can see the end result. There has to be a better answer, I'm going to have to examine this equipment for more answers."

"You be really careful of that black frame, that's Wildrider powered up by a bad copy of the Heart of Cybertron."

"Fascinating. Why not kill him?"

"Because Wildrider has inhabited the body of a friend to bring himself back from the dead."

"A friend who wears a Decepticon logo?"

"Yes, the last Decepticon on Earth, Dead End."

"Truly this place is a twisted tale," the detective shook his head and smiled ruefully, standing as Grimlock crashed backwards on his back beside them. "Excuse me." The blue Honda stood to meet the on rushing black Subaru as Grimlock's assailant moved towards one of its dropped rifles.

_The coldest blood runs through my veins_

Now that he was unnoticed again after Nightbeat's sudden departure, Decepticharge again began hauling the red mech frame gradually into the vacant couch. While several glances were thrown in the direction of the strange device imprisoning Dead End, it was mostly Autobots making sure that Dead End stayed unmoving. Decepticharge hardened the features of his former team mate, concentrating on the task of saving himself, no matter what else occurred in this pit.

Behind deactivated visual sensors, Decepticharge did his best to track the course of the emerging battle, in particular the Autobot nearest him. Left lame by damaged feet, Smokescreen could not contribute much, but he kept himself occupied, since Nightbeat and Grimlock had stood to take care of the black Subaru he had propped himself against a back wall, spreading his damaged legs apart for balance and held his rifle out in front of him with both hands, tracking at the various battle. He helped Tracks, firing away at the grey Scion based mech as the Corvette moved close intending to grapple.

Until Nightbeat's head poked itself over the edge of the pit.

Nightbeat's head was not liveried grey, blue and gold.

"Oh frak another one, who in the Pit is this?"

_You know my name_

"So you are Blaster? Maybe I can find a way to communicate with you." Muttering to himself Tracks fine tuned the sighting on one missile. Realising his covering fire from behind had stopped, Tracks sent the urgent command and the rocket motor blazed to life, the docking clamp releasing its hold, allowing the small white missile to flash across the short distance, detonating thunderously against the metal plating over the grey and red figure.

_If you come inside things will not be the same_

Tracks had a brief moment to glance through a short file from Smokescreen, reporting on some of the information provided by Nightbeat which had been uploaded across the Autobot team by the tactician. It made for interesting reading. Tracks altered his tactics. Blaster's weak point, was not Blaster himself, but something below and to the right.

_When you return to the night_

"Aaaaaaaaahhhh." Tracks, shouting as he ran, attempting the human practice of unsettling your opponent with an emotional cry of rage and defiance, picking up on the clues that it was not Blaster, but a human controlling Blaster, as he pounded the decking the last few steps before he reached his goal. Ducking from flying and falling debris, the grey Binaltech frame did not respond in time and collapsed backwards under the weight of the flying Corvette.

_And if you think you've won, you never saw me change_

Lumina Hoshii uttered a short scream as the chunks of steel and rock, easily ignorable by her Unit Three, but deadly to her, crashed around her, providing a physical reminder of her vulnerability with the battle pressed to point blank range. Hoshii looked up at Unit Three and raised the figures arms to meet the onrushing alien. Control had been very specific about the alien nature of their assailants. Distracted by a terrible electronic howl, Hoshii could not defend herself in time. One by one the overheads lights were blotted out, the shadows grew darker and larger.

And there was no time left.

_The game that we all been playing_

Elsewhere in the facility something else thundered to life. With all gantries retracted and a hatch open to the darkening sky beyond rocket motors mixed and ignited the constant flow of liquid oxygen and fuel creating a barely controlled explosion, directing the force as downward pointing thrust. On a pillar of smoke and fire, the converted missile carried its over-calibre payload towards the night, and the heavens beyond, shrinking until it became just another star among many others.

_I've seen diamonds cut through harder men_

Nigthbeat crashed backwards to the decking. His unfamiliarity with his new frame had left him clumsy and vulnerable compared to the smooth confidence being exuded from the white helmed black frame, its every move conveying the ability to inflict violence.

But he had bought Grimlock the time he needed to recover and the big mech stepped forward once more and crashed towards the white highlighted figure and the pair bounced off the wall and crashed to the floor. Nightbeat turned his head to see what Smokescreen was exclaiming about. He was pouring weapons fire trying to keep a grey twin of Nightbeat's own frame from climbing into the battle. In the background beyond the target of Smokescreen's fire, two closed cages were being cracked open. He could see Tracks and the figure he thought was Blaster fighting, and the two brightly coloured Viper frames, but there was another tussle...

_Than you yourself, but if you must pretend_

What is a gunner without a gun? Silverstreak had little time to work on this conundrum. Having used his rifle as a club and on occasion a staff the defend himself, using his lightning reflexes to place the gun between himself and the assault of the scarlet and black behemoth bearing the helm of his once beloved and lost leader, the weapon had been pounded into uselessness. He had been on the defensive since his fight began. He knew he was fighting for his life, but new information from Smokescreen suggested he could no more hurt his opponent as hurt himself.

_You may meet your end_

Silverstreak found his beliefs shaken to the core. He knew he could not meekly place himself beneath the sickle of Death, but fighting back was abhorrent as fighting at all. And all he could do was place his rifle in harms way instead. The parody, or more precisely the puppet of Optimus had begun the sense this and on more than one occasion had broken off to assist the yellow figure attacking Sideswipe, or turn to fire the massive blaster at one of the more distant fights, once even turning its back on Silverstreak.

There was an arrogance on display here, it was as if Optimus was playing with Silverstreak but at the same time unwilling to finish him off to help his fellows. It was like Optimus only helped the others when he had to.

_Arm yourself because no-one else here will save you_

"Grimlock!"

The former Dinobot finally had a moments respite to clamber to his feet away from the flame motifed figure. He turned at the sound of Smokescreen's call to see his double blaster sailing through the air towards him.

"This better."

The black figure was unable to do anything to capitalise on Grimlock's distraction as Nightbeat had clumsily leapt to his aid once more to buy Smokescreen the time to get Grimlock his gun.

_The odds will betray you_

A red flash appeared out of the dark and Nightbeat was blasted to the floor, hit by apparently a stray shot from elsewhere on the battles being fought on the wide parapet above the sunken pit. The black figure took the time to stoop and retrieve one of his own rifles as Grimlock attempted to return fire. Peppering the red figure standing by the seemingly helpless Silverstreak with small rapid fire rounds from the alternating barrels.

_And I will replace you_

With the fight gradually moving away from the imprisoned Decepticharge, the figure now felt more able to move with impunity and dragged the lifeless frame quickly towards the vacant couch before re-arranging the cables. Like a strange combination of giant squid and Meccano set the red Ford GT frame was dragged upwards into the couch. Decepticharge paused, he needed to know he was unobserved before he committed to the transference because he suspected he would lose consciousness in the attempt. No-one moved to intercept so he retracted the cabling and set about making all the connections.

_You can't deny the prize it may never fulfil you_

With both Smokescreen and Nightbeat ignoring everything around them the pair found guns and assaulted the dark figure now identified as Ricochet. The Subaru staggered backwards trying to defend itself, before spinning around from one shot collecting firmly on the right headlight.

Grimlock finally had a pin on Ricochet.

"Now finish you." Stepping forward in a rush he drove both arms underneath the armpits and locked fingers behind Ricochet's head, pinning the figure in a headlock. Nightbeat casually stepped forward and reached into a gap in Ricochet's armour and pulled at something.

"NOOOOOO-eeeeeEEEEEE!!!!"

The human scream shrilled through the atmosphere of the room as the black Subaru slumped forward in the ex-Dinobots arms. Smoke curled upwards from the helmet of an unmoving human female on the floor, her position now betrayed by the small trial of floating microscopic ash.

Then there was another sound and Smokescreen stretched for a nearby weapon.

_It longs to kill you_

Just as Smokescreen reached for Grimlock's energo sword, a dark figure rounded a corner and entered the antechamber above the Tartarus Pits with all the speed its four feet could muster. Pounding down the short slope the beast like figure uttered a mechanical snarl that chilled the diversionist to his chassis. Smokescreen flung the hilt into the air with all the speed his arms could muster, racing to keep the weapon ahead of the demonic figure he thought he had seen killed on the plateaus of Guatemala.

_Are you willing to die?_

The giant black jaguar raced down the short slope, running directly at the silver Mustang and leapt. Something had warned the Dinobot and the silver figure half spun, dropping the dead weight of Ricochet, taking in the racing beast machine and the flying orange hilt. Continuing the spin he presented his back to the onrushing ghost from his recent past as he grabbed the sword hilt with his right hand while he raised his left arm to block the jaguar, striking just below the neck where it met the chest as the two Binaltech frames collided, momentum from the swinging arm helping to counteract the force from the collision.

_The coldest blood runs through my veins_

Tightening his spin, Grimlock activated the sword and brought it across his body, under the jutting Mustang breast. The fire-bright ethereal blade formed in the air and raced to its tip just as Grimlock extended his arm, pushing outwards away from the spin and plunging the blade downwards into the reaching teeth-rimmed snout of the Jaguar. The former cassetticon convulsed as the blade entered and plunged down his throat, a gurgling rattle emanating from somewhere on the Decepticon as Grimlock's forearm followed the blade. Buried deep in the Decepticon the energy field of the sword found purchase in one of the grooves that surrounded the once smooth, now creased and battered spark core, puncturing the spark chamber. Yellow bright eyes dimmed in an instant and the mech once known as Ravage fell off Grimlock's arm and crashed lifeless to the floor.

"For Prowl. Me Grimlock say you stay dead now."

_Try to hide your hand, Forget how to feel_

Beyond in the pits a white and black Subaru frame was mobile and climbing to be free and join the battle. Ignoring the pain throbbing from his injured feet Smokescreen did the one thing he could to give himself mobility. Gasping from the excruciating sensation, he drew his legs in, twisted his torso, folded his arms into his chest and closed his wing doors.

_Life is gone with just a spin of the wheel_

The badly damaged Subaru WRX rally car lit up his tyres and launched across the small distance, leaping over the collapsed and bullet ridden figure of the grey Honda Integra that might be Camshaft, smashing through the red rimmed copy of Silverstreak as it peeked over the edge and crashing beyond into the orange Jeep Wrangler frame now standing as well.

_Arm yourself because no-one else here will save you_

The entire room shook and Sideswipe, Silverstreak and Grimlock all crashed to the floor caught completely unaware. The voice within Dead End howled with fury as electronics sparked, bolts of electricity arced around him and the red frame beside him jerked in an obscene parody of flesh life subjected to current.

_The odds will betray you_

With the battle starting to turn a new mech had entered the game, its huge piledrivers smashing repeatedly into the floor just beyond the entrance to the huge pits. The force of the vibrations travelling through every surface. Those few Agents still standing joined the Autobots on the floor, their Units frames however retained their footing for the moment but ceased fighting.

_And I will replace you_

Jerking to life, the scarlet coloured frame stood away from its socket and walked, stiffly at first towards the downed Autobots, drawing its two short blasters. The blue Honda lurched forwards, an energon baton swinging downwards towards the creation he had sought to prevent. Nightbeat, away that something was wrong with the machinery before him had looked it over and puzzled out its intent. The suddenly alive Ford GT frame scared him for its unknown possibilities. The detective suddenly checked short, stopped mid-flight, and crashed off balance to the floor. The very air shimmered, an object solidifying from the ether. Standing side by side the new red frame was its sapphire hued twin.

_You can't deny the prize it may never fulfil you_

The red GT looked across at the blue GT for a moment, then ferociously attacked it. Grimlock, trying to stand was aware of the new horror of Decepticharge returned to life and felt around for his dropped energo sword. The imitation of the middle aged hunter crumbled before the frenzied attack and was pushed to one side as it collapsed. Raising its two blasters it ripped fire across the gantry at the Honda Civic pounding away at the entrance felling it quickly.

"YEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAH! Hot Rod's back in town! Hey, what's happ'n Grim one?"

_It longs to kill you_

Fully involved in directing Unit One, Junko never became aware of the danger she was in. The strangely behaving Autobot was in Unit One's sights now. Even though this Autobot would fight its own fellow, seemingly trying to protect her Unit One, it was still a threat to Control. The red figure moved directly into the centre of her head up display.

And then a shadow blocked out the overhead lights. Far too late Junko Shirakami realised why the red Autobot had stepped away from Unit One and yet into her sights. Descending rapidly from above away was a large grey never ending mass of metal. Finally her mind made the connection, and decided it was a foot.

Her mind started to scream but it ran out of time to get to her throat.

_Are you willing to die?_

Sideswipe stepped away from the remains of the human and raised his sub-rifle and pointed it rock steady at the dark Viper frame still entombed within the structure of the human machinery.

"Shoot me already. Go on, shoot me," the voice was no longer the multi-layered horror that had taken so many Autobot lives. The yellow tint had faded, the eyes once more glinted yellow. Dead End now stared back at the surviving twin.

_The coldest blood runs through my veins_

"I want you to know this feeling. Feel your impending doom."

"I have felt that feeling since the moment your vengeance began Sideswipe. Finish it. Let your brother rest."

"I am Death itself. The allspark opens beneath to greet you. For Sunstreaker."

"Let him be Sides. He's not worth it. Not for me. Much as I appreciate the gesture."

_You know my name_

Sideswipe still stared at Dead End but his finger, once bow taut, now trembled and he no longer saw the ex-Stunticon in front of him. His facial expression softened into blankness. The scarlet warrior felt a hand grip his right shoulder. He stood as still as he dared, and as still as his body twitching with tiny spikes of spark energy, suddenly afraid that any wrong movement might shatter the illusion.

"Sunny?" Sideswipe's voice was barely above a whisper, scared stiff the answer would be "no", but scared that it would be "yes", bringing to an end thirty months of spark-destroying bloody vendetta.

"Yeah Sides, how ya doin' bro?" Sideswipe turned now, looking into the blue eyes, no longer cold and dead, now moving with the small almost imperceptible movements of life, real life. Not human remote controlled. The sub-rifle fell forgotten and Sideswipe gripped Sunstreaker's upper arms for a half moment before drawing him into a tight embrace and found himself laughing and sobbing uncontrollably.

_You know my name_

"Jazz!" Smokescreen turned at the cry, noticing for the first time that Wheeljack and another unfamiliar mech had arrived from the lower chambers. The strange figure, a blackened version of the Dodge Ram frame carrying the helm of Optimus Prime was holding a third mech in its arms. The grievously damaged third figure was the once charismatic figure of Jazz, his side badly gashed open and crusted with dry and drying coolant and mech fluid. Wheeljack, the Subaru noticed was maintaining a wary distance from the newcomer and briefly locked optics with the diversionist. In the saddest gesture he had ever seen the engineer slowly shook his head.

_You know my name_

"Primus forgive me I killed him," the new mech spoke. The voice was instantly and shockingly familiar. The silver Mustang was moving towards the two, while the red liveried Dodge Ram frame shakily climbed to its feet.

"There is no hope, no hope at all," Smokescreen had never heard the voice filled with such despair before. "Grimlock I killed Jazz. He was our brother and I killed him."

_You know my name_

The silver mustang stepped up to the dark Prime.

"You... Ultra Magnus?" The dark figure had spotted the other Ram and turned away from Grimlock, still carrying his sparkless load.

_YOU KNOW MY NAME_

The dark figure collapsed to his knees in front of his scarlet shaded twin and looked upwards pleadingly, his voice aching with grief.

"Optimus forgive me. He was your protégé and I killed him. I buried a sword in his side and let him exhaust his fluids while my weakness argued with itself."

_YOU KNOW MY NAME_

"Jazz... Magnus..." the baritone voice was just as familiar and to all in the room belonged to a leader and friend they believed long dead. The voice came from a frame they believed a parody of their fallen icon. The red Ram laid a hand on the shoulder of the black one as his head fell, no longer able to meet his eyes.

_YOU KNOW MY NAME_


	18. Declaration

_"Control, Communications. All transmitters are on stand by. Relay satellites are in position. Jammers have responded to inquiries."_

_"All Watchtower staff, Control. Today we stand on the edge of destiny. We are in a unique position, not even the holy crusades of antiquity and all the power of the papacy in the middle ages have the ability to bring the lost children home as we do now. All of our sacrifices and our penitence are about to be rewarded. Our lord God watches over us and approves. Defence, stand ready we need you to protect us, those who do not yet see his glory and power may respond quickly. Communications, activate the jamming devices and swamp their television transmitters. Activate satellite relays and open transmission frequencies. Visualisations, begin the music."_

_"Peoples of Earth, please attend carefully. The message that follows is vital to the future of you all. I speak to you today of our new world, of a foundation of the new world as you will come to know it."_

 

Watchtower Space Station  
High Earth Orbit  
Four hours later

Peoples of Earth, please attend carefully. The message that follows is vital to the future of you all. I speak to you today of our new world, of a foundation of the new world as you will come to know it.

Over the past two decades the world has been held to ransom by Islamic extremism. Whatever nobility the sons of Mohammed once had has been erased by those wanting to take us back to a stone age where women are reduced to sexual enslavement and men are ranked according to their knowledge of old texts and how to corrupt them to their own advantage. The dignity of their religion vanished in a haze of semtex and burnt flesh, its falseness exposed as a few men with inferiority complexes tried to make up for past slights more imagined than real.

I came of age in a nation brought to its knees by the folly of imperial conquest, by attempting to conquer those better equipped than ourselves by the belief of a few that they knew the world better. The Americans taught us a lesson in humility as they eviscerated our Emperor. In this world I found God's word and sought through his truth to teach myself how to conquer the new false gods of greed, globalisation and capitalism. The word of Islam taught me a new lesson. It is not enough to be worthy of the intentions of our Lord and master when the infidels may deprive you of enlightenment by selfishly sending their followers into the afterlife they falsely believe will be a paradise because they seek to murder God's children.

Then came the robots, the godless destroyers, the transformers, and they have taught us a lesson as well. Built from the technology they wielded, the Watchtower I dedicate in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, God now has an instrument through which those who would harm his disciples and followers will feel the wrath of his vengeance. This Watchtower wields the energy weapons created by the robots, the weapons of the godless now serving his most holy purpose.

Now begins the first holy crusade of Christ's second millenium. We shall begin with the training camps used by the so-called freedom fighters whose actual mission is to suppress freedom. Those in the Middle East, then those in the Northern Africa, then the sub-continent and the Himalayan foothills. Those who would destroy, will now be destroyed.

You may protest these actions. You may choose to blame the American military. We are not associated with the American military so attacking them will not dissuade us. We do not represent any government, but draw affirmation from a higher authority, that of the Lord our God. He sees each of us, his children, in detail and calls each of us to his sacred cause. He does not recognise nations but summons us, his children in the world, to put on his full armor and take up his sword against the enemy.

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms." Our struggle is not merely against these terrorists wrapped in the guise of freedom fighters, but against this false god Allah in whose name the sons of Mohammed strive to destroy freedom itself.


	19. Elevation

_"Control, SBL Control. Targets One through Eight have been prosecuted. We are repositioning to strike new target as requested in Florida."_

_"Control, Sensor station. Armed shuttle has retreated. It is still in missile range but is now outside the projected range of the weapons we believe it has available."_

_"Control, Station command. That orbitter must have already been in orbit, either they knew we were here before hand or more if not they are on a test flight and are likely to be carrying a light weapons load."_

_"Station command, Control. It is the latter. All stations: cancel combat alert but maintain general quarters. Sensors keep missile attack solutions on that shuttle live. If they move into an aggressive position alert all stations. SBL Control, continue with reciprocity strike."_

 

Unnamed Mountain  
Rocky Mountain Range, Colorado  
Outside of facility

They had all found him quickly. Some had made demands, some requests, some had begged. But Optimus Prime had no answers for any of them.

Truth be told, he felt unworthy of the attentions the various national heads of state of Earth were giving him. Many he suspected got in contact with him, hoping for some form of magic wand. They had to wait for the moment while he gathered his shattered command.

It seemed just moments before, he had been racing towards Earth to rescue the remnants of a task force half-forgotten by events halfway across the galaxy as another crisis had enveloped the homeworld. There were so many friends here he had hoped to see again. He knew of the those who had died while he regenerated, and of those that had for the moment been spared the embrace of the Allspark. In particular he had longed to see Prowl and Jazz, his Lieutenants from the exiled years on Earth. Two mechs he had come to respect, one for his meticulous strategies, the other for his tactical brilliance. The illusion he had used to keep two toes ahead of Megatron. One to puzzle out the would be dictator, the other to find the response.

Jazz and Prowl.

Prowl's sparkless frame now lay interred not less than 2000 kilometres from where he stood while a now unfamiliar Jazz still lay in the arms of Optimus oldest brother-in-arms. Ultra Magnus, for all his intelligence, could not yet let go of his burden, such was the guilt he felt. In a moment of selfish weakness he glanced across at the twins, noting Sideswipe's joy at being by Sunstreaker's side again. From what he had gathered Sideswipe had buried himself in his grief and his anger for most of the last three years. Optimus allowed a brief moment of pain for himself as he wondered whether he would get a chance himself to grieve. The pain of Ironhide's loss was still fresh.

Prowl. Jazz. Ratchet. Hound. Windcharger. Brawn.

Prowl's killer at least was something he could vent some feeling towards. The feline Decepticon lay back in the chaotic ruin within the Mountain behind them. He could sense the pride Grimlock felt for having slain Prowl's murderer, but Optimus could not fathom how Grimlock had developed any feeling of kinship with Prowl when once Grimlock had felt something akin to hatred for the Strategist.

Until Magnus worked off his guilt Grimlock would have to do for an adjutant. Smokescreen, for all his injuries, helped considerably. He refused to leave the impromptu briefing Grimlock gave Prime. The arrival of Skids, along with a G.I.Joe team meant that Smokescreen could at least have his wounds tended by the harried theoretician. Skids brought with him the news that Swerve had been stabilised, and would recover. Given time.

Time was a commodity Optimus Prime had little of. No time to grieve. No time to allow his warriors to come together after having been attempting the murder each other, and half of them from the scars of mental subjugation.

No time to find a magic wand for the humans.

Thousands of kilometres away, the Middle East was ablaze. Like a long untended pressure cooker the explosion had been real. While violet energy continued to flash down from the sky, several nations had used the threat as a pretext to build up armed forces to strike against whomever they chose. Israel had massed its own troops towards Gaza in the South and the Lebanese border in the North only to have redistribute their response Eastwards when Syria massed what could only described as an invasion force. The nations of west Asia were helpless to strike against the foe that struck against them, so they instead struck against what foes they could.

Everybody blamed the United States. The US President was now holding his third press conference denying all involvement. The break he had taken after the second press conference had been the talk to Optimus Prime over radio and blame him.

The President had ordered the military shuttle Independence to launch, and he did so publicly causing certain Pentagon officials to have some semi-public conniption fits. Some sudden promotions soon followed, but with an influx of officers in new positions the military response to the crisis was more confused than it should have been.

What did not help anyone was the next violet strike from the sky instead incinerated the shuttle launch pad at Cape Canaveral. Shuttle Independence however did not launch from the Kennedy Space Centre, a slightly too public place for something so secret. Or at least something that used to be so secret.

"Prime, human pretend soldier want talk," Grimlock interrupted the reverie. The female human by his side seemed if anything grumpier than Grimlock. Despite the gravity of the situation, Prime was briefly glad of his faceplate which hid the smile that thought triggered.

"General Barbera." The soldier introduced herself.

"General? You command the Joes?"

"Yes."

"Hawk has retired?"

"Dead. Killed by a Decepticon." Another old friend to grieve. Would it stop? Would he be continued to be compromised in his old professional relationships? The universe had moved on while he had... slept. Literally he had slept through the turning of the war. When he had had his final fight with Megatron the Autobots had just started to move from the defensive to the offensive. When Rodimus had revived him the Decepticons had been all but pacified and were fighting rear guard actions, using at times, guerilla tactics.

"The attack failed," Barbera spoke with bitterness. Failure came very hard to this soldier. She was not even directly involved, and yet seemed to want to claim some of the burden.

"How? Is there anything we can learn from it?"

"With an absence of other data it was thought this station might be vulnerable to a lateral attack as its main offensive weapon is designed for orbittal bombardment. The station, however, is defended by conventional missiles."

"By conventional you mean, human developed." Optimus hardened his tone. This was not Hawk. Hawk would either tell Optimus all there was to tell, or he would lie to an extent the Optimus would not be able to penetrate. There was no level of relationship with Barbera. There was only what she said, and what Optimus' limited understanding of human body behaviour could tell him. Optimus looked more deeply into Barbera's expression. The flag officer did not flinch from his unblinking gaze or the implied insult.

"Yes."

"Me Grimlock say humans need more brave." Optimus sensed a strong tone of anger in Grimlock's words. There had always been anger present in the Dinobot, but now it seemed amplified somehow. The why would have to wait until he could talk to Grimlock privately. Barbera bristled visibly.

"They are using your tech to kill us by the hundreds."

"There will be time enough for blame afterwards..."

"That's crap Optimus..."

"Optimus wrong..." Grimlock and Barbera both stopped when they found themselves simultaneously interrupting Optimus with the same objection. The silence dragged for a few seconds, during which Optimus noted they had attracted an audience. Several Autobots had moved closer to the debate.

"Blame here won't wait for some other time," Barbera eventually offered. "If we can determine the nature of these terrorists, their motivation, we can determine likely targets and possibility of negotiation."

"Or offence tactic," added Grimlock. Optimus looked hard at Barbera, who had nodded, or at least considering the massive height difference between them, Optimus assumed an acknowledgement of Grimlock's point.

"I thought Government did not negotiate with terrorists?"

"Don't be naive Optimus. What the politicians tell the public only reflects public policy, not the actuality of warfare. Politicians may decide when a war starts, but they do not do the fighting. If they are smart."

"The end object is still the same, defeating the station." The quiet voice startled everybody. It was Optimus' General, his now shaded twin.

"Magnus, you need time..." Optimus was deeply concerned for his brother-in-arms, for the depression that had overwhelmed him. Ultra Magnus had finally put Jazz down. It had been almost twelve hours he had carried the corpse. Hopefully he could start to come out of his mood. His strategic ability, almost the equal of Prowl, but with the added flexibility of superior tactical nous that Prowl had lacked, just that little bit of Jazz, honed by vorns of underground guerilla fighting, had made him a deadly opponent for the Decepticons. Depression though had stalked Magnus for years, first as the leader who had presided over the near extinction of the Autobots during Shockwave's famine war, and again during and after the Unicron War where his experience of warfare had not prepared him sufficiently for the superior position of being the General who had resources. Thankfully Galvatron's insanity gave Magnus the flexibility to learn the complete skills of a true General. Optimus spark chamber pained to see Magnus reduced to the mech he had come to know in the short gap between the opening of the space bridge to Cybertron, and the Battle of Autobot City.

"No Optimus, I will grieve later."

"That is what you said when we retook Cybertron's second moon. You cannot bottle this up forever. You may never return to the mech you were."

"I may not want to Prime. I have a feeling I may have to determine my own future away from the Autobots." Magnus was expressionless but the other Autobots displayed varying levels of surprise or astonishment, although not Grimlock or Sunstreaker. Or Barbera. The three seemed not to care. Optimus wanted, wanted very badly, to pursue Magnus' line of thought, but he had to fail his old friend.

The situation demanded it.

Being a friend of the Autobot Prime was not good for mech's long term health.

"What do we know about the station?" Optimus hoped his voice was all business.

"The primary weapon is a space based laser emitter, large, and if Mr. Inoue's, that's who he claimed to be, Inoue's claim is correct, Cybertronian in origin. Apart from its power, well above anything we have seen before, it's only distinguishing characteristic is its violet colour."

"Shockwave." Wheeljack's voice held a tone a reproachment. There was plenty of that going around.

"Explain," Barbera's voice held a tone of command Optimus felt he should be exuding.

"Jazz and I found Shockwave's body inside the power generation room in there," Wheeljack gestured at the mountain behind them.

"How did they get that out of the vault?" asked Smokescreen. The diversionist was not immediately present but was being tended by Skids some distance away but with Blaster's help was keeping track of the conference remotely.

"Not his Binaltech frame, his original frame. His arms were missing." The implication hung over all present, although Barbera might not know.

"General," translated Optimus, "Shockwave's previous alternate mode was that of an artillery platform. His arms formed the bulk of the componentry of that laser weapon. It would have the capability this Watchtower is displaying. Shockwave was involved in security, it is hard to believe these people got past his internal security."

"A side issue." Barbera was keen to press on.

"Not if they had assistance, and not if that assistance is continuing." Of all mechs, this was Sunstreaker. The Joes had found a cache of Autobot weapons in the Mountain and Sunstreaker had stripped down his old blaster and was cleaning it. Beside him Sideswipe was doing the same, completing the reassembly of his old rocket thruster pack. Sunstreaker was not looking at the others and his tone merely tossed the comment into the mix. That everyone was now looking at him seemed not to matter. Or maybe it did. There was a touch of sociopath with Sunstreaker, and wanting the attentions of others was something he sought. He stopped, perhaps sensing he had everyone's attention and looked up.

"I was the first attempt that succeeded in their ability to take control of us. But I wasn't the first attempt. The human I was bonded to witnessed them activating a Binaltech style unit that was purple with one eye. It transformed into a Mazda RX8 after trashing the place. Obviously the attempt to take control of purple one-eyed boy just woke him up. Either he was conscious and they had his co-operation, or else someone else gave them the information they needed. Shockwave never did have any taste. A Mazda? Urgh. No self respect."

"Rodimus, I need to know right now," this was Nightbeat. "Do you have even the vaguest impression of somebody else in your frame."

"We all have the fingerprints that those girls left on us man," Blaster offered the statement. "Gives me the chills just thinking about it. That girl was a complete nerd. A nerd! Do you know what those people are like? She liked paperclips!"

"Rodimus was not bonded with one of the Agents. His body was intended to be a vessel for Wildrider." Nightbeat's gaze bored in at Rodimus.

"Nothing Nightbeat," the Cavalier looked slightly puzzled.

"You are sure?"

"Yeah," Rodimus was looking a little self-conscious from the detective's enquiry.

"It does not matter we need an angle on attacking the station." Barbera was getting exasperated. Optimus wondered how often she did that.

"I have one," Optimus remembered a day, a day so many years ago, when he had taken to the skies using Sideswipe's rocket pack, attempting the bring down the fleeing Decepticons. He had failed then, although Mirage had saved the day. He would not fail this time.

"Sideswipe, give me the rocket pack." Sideswipe looked up, while next to him, Sunstreaker sighed, a too human reaction. As Sideswipe stood he was felled in a moment, a right cross from his brother flooring the Viper. Sunstreaker bent down and tweaked something on Sideswipe's frame and he switched off. Sunstreaker grabbed the rocket pack, looked briefly at his still partially dissaembled blaster, and picked up his new Binaltech sub-rifle.

"Sunstreaker this is mutiny."

"No Prime, believe it or not this is leadership. You're a pompous bleeding heart Prime. If you went up there you would try and reason with them. The time for reason is well past. They need killing and there is no-one better for that job than me."

"Give me the rockets Sunstreaker. That is an order."

"After all this time, you still don't get it do you Optimus? Heroics are for the brave, but it's also for the disposable. You don't qualify. If I die so be it, the cause won't die with me. I was dead for most of the last year, at least this time no-one will be giving me a bad name in the afterlife. I'll see you in the Matrix." Sunstreaker paused, looking down at Sideswipes reclining form in Skids arms as the makeshift medic had run quickly to tend to him. "Take care of Sides for me; the boy is far too reckless for his own good. As the humans say, live fast, die young and leave a damn good looking corpse."

"Sunstreaker!" Optimus Prime was getting mad now. Sunstreaker no longer cared if Prime was feeling guilty ahead of time for his death. One of Jazz' darker humanisms came to mind at that point.

"Fark you."

With those final words Sideswipe's rocket pack ignited and the golden figure leapt for the heavens. Optimus watched the fiery figure retreat in his vision and could only wish the best for a soldier he had never really liked, but could never doubt his effectiveness. Optimus knew Sunstreaker was wrong. As long as he could fight he would always fight for life, for a future, for hope.

Vengeance for vengeance sake was wrong.

"SUNSTREAKER!" A plaintive voice rent the air. Sideswipe had revived in time to see the figure retreat in the skies above. Half cradled in Skids arms with his left arm out-stretched towards the shrinking glow he added in a desperate pained whisper; "Take me with you."


	20. Ignition

_"Control, SBL Control. Targets One through Eight have been prosecuted. We are repositioning to strike new target as requested in Florida."_

_"Control, Sensor station. Armed shuttle has retreated. It is still in missile range but is now outside the projected range of the weapons we believe it has available."_

_"Control, Station command. That orbitter must have already been in orbit, Either they knew we were here before hand or more likely they are on a test flight and are likely to be carrying a light weapons load."_

_"Station command, Control. It is the latter. All stations: cancel combat alert but maintain general quarters. Sensors keep missile attack solutions on that shuttle live. If they move into an aggressive position alert all stations. SBL Control, continue with reciprocity strikes."_

 

Lower Atmosphere  
Minutes later

The sky gradually turned dark around Sunstreaker as he ascended on his pillar of fire, for once ignoring the damage to his livery as the rocket exhaust scorched, blistered and peeled his much loved paintwork. Sunstreaker knew he was vain about his looks, and he did not particularly care what others thought about that, but he was also a warrior born. He knew where priorities lay even if at times he did not show it. There was value in making an opponent underestimate you. Sunstreaker loved staging very nasty surprises for his opponents.

But this time there was a cost he did care about. Sunstreaker felt touched by the lengths Sideswipe had gone to, creating bloody vengeance in his name. It was as fitting an epitaph as he had ever desired, but what it had done to Sideswipe gave Sunstreaker significant pause. The personality of the mech he had known all his life had changed substantially in the almost two cycles he had spent missing and buried beneath the thoughts of an adolescent human. Returning to his side would have been a first step in Sideswipe's recovery but now...

He had called himself disposable to Optimus Prime for good reason. This was almost certainly a one way trip. The rocket pack had enough fuel to get him into orbit, with plenty to spare, but certainly not enough to make a successful re-entry and landing, even supposing his human constructed body could take the friction.

But as he had told Prime, it was a job that needed doing. And with extreme prejudice.

Certainly Sunstreaker did not mind indulging in the selfishness of the personal revenge for how he had been violated by these people. His mind and spark ripped from its frame and dumped into something more malleable. There were still echoes of Junko Shirakami in his brain case. The child soldier, the adolescent sniper, bound to the preaching’s of this, Takahashi Inoue. This religious prophet who believed his particular version of belief system was more valid than anyone else’s. Humans were intensely parochial about their notions of religion, and there were many who if in conflict with another such 'visionary' would simply further splinter an already splintered view of history. And it was not as though they had digital recordings of ancient generations. Human history had been recorded in an unreliable analogue format, and like even digital copying, the message degrades and corrupts over time. Multiply that level of corruption by a hundred generations. The wildly empirical end result was hardly surprising.

He almost wished Unicron would show up. Almost.

Patched into surveillance systems by a helpful Blaster, he was aware the Watchtower would fall almost neatly into an interception course. The satellite had recently made a second pass over West Asia, vaporising ground targets as it passed overhead. If their sensor arrays were finely tuneable enough to pick up Sunstreaker there could well be problems. If there was, he imagined he would never know it. He would just cease to be.

As the station came over the relative horizon, whipping towards him from left to right in its orbit at hundreds of kilometres an hour, he altered his trajectory to intercept then trained his sub-rifle out ahead of himself and started firing. A blast of azure energy lanced downwards suddenly, reaching for a target on the ground. It was firing on North America now? Hopefully not at the Autobots clustered as they were in one spot somewhere underneath his feet. Refocussing he continued to fire, hoping that any small hit at the station would help.

For Sunstreaker's plan was far from subtle.

 

Lower Atmosphere  
US Air Force Assault Shuttle Independence  
Same Time

The biggest problem facing US Space Command in recent times had been paint. Space represents a unique battleground. Conventional camouflage simply does not work. Space, for the most part is black. Anything else is space is brightly coloured. The Earth is mostly white from its cloud formations, the Moon light grey, and every object floating between a myriad of the lighter industrial colours. Every object represents total contrast in colours. For Space Command's Assault Shuttle Independence, the world's first space fighter a new solution had been needed, and adaptive camouflage had been applied. It was the single greatest secret of the space program. Powered by batteries recharged by a thin and efficient layer of solar cells which covered Independence's wing surfaces, light waves were bent magnetically by a myriad of projectors arrayed in the spaces between the cells. These tiny projectors had not been developed by NASA or the USAF, but copied. Secure in a vault in Space Commands limited research facilities at NASA was a long section of blue and white metal which ended in a great white metal gauntlet, many times larger than the largest hand to ever see action in the NBA, its fingers blocky, square and smooth, unlike any seen on human hands. On one blue panelled side of the 'arm' sat three-quarters of an incongruous advertisement for a brand of French tobacco. Given the right electrical impulses, that arm could fade from sight. The Independence had been armed with this stolen technology.

Space Command originally had been created to run the CIA and NSA's growing fleet of surveillance satellites. In time it took over some of the functions of the now disbanded Strategic Air Command which had once run the US Air Force's nuclear deterrent. Specifically Space Command had taken over SAC's fleet of Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles, but as with any agency granted great power, it developed agendas of its own. Most technology utilised in NASA's fleet of Space Shuttles, which once had been a genuine fleet, but now consisted of only the three youngest orbitters, Discovery, Atlantis and Endeavour, was old, mainly 1970's technology. Their major role as cargo haulers was also superfluous to the intentions of Space Command, but the expensive research and development program being organised for the creation of the scramjet spaceplane America was too ambitious for Space Command. So while the space programs public face NASA fought the good fight to get spaceplane America flying while still funding the Constellation program, and the rumour chasers were diverted with specially planted leaks about the construction of a cruiser based on alien technology called the Prometheus, Space Command utilised mostly existing technology and the proven design of the Columbia class orbitters to create the Independence.

Without the burden of hauling tonnes of cargo into space, Independence was smaller than Discovery and her sister vessels. It travelled aloft with basically the same launch system as the Columbia class vessels, two solid fuel boosters and a large fuel tank to feed Independence's internal engines, but scaled down to suit the much reduced launch weight of the unarmed Independence. Because of the risk of carrying live weapons into space, the Independence’s armaments were launched separately in cargo modules and the space fighter was loaded with its cargo of missiles once in orbit.

Independence's first military action had not been a success. With only two test missiles aboard it had moved in to attack the station with a couple of G.I.Joe space troopers to act as boarders once they had closed on the station. The station was surprisingly well armed, and both of Independence missiles were intercepted and destroyed by anti-missile missiles. When another missile was fired at Independence they beat a hasty retreat, unable to close to within range of the rotary cannon and left with questions as to how they could see the Independence with their adaptive camouflage deployed.

"Do you think it's like stealth fighters, with the bomb bay doors open the AC fails because you can see the missiles and the interior of the bay?"

"Maybe, but it's supposed to be active, like a force-field, wait. Did something hit the station? A flash of light. Blue-ish."

"What? Where?" Independence’s two pilots were former astronauts who had been seconded back to the Air Force and had spent some time flying F-117 Nighthawks and B-2 Spirits as well as performing development work on F-22 Raptors and F-35 Joint Strike Fighters.

"Are we anywhere near Kazakhstan?" One of the garishly space suited G.I.Joes was inside the cockpit of Independence as well. The three humans looked out of shrunken cockpit window at the strange sight beyond. Floating in zero gee the Joe propelled her upwards across the cabin, so much smaller than what she had trained on in the Atlantis. Kazakhstan was where the bulk of the Russian space program was based, from the Baikonur Cosmodrome, to the more secretive Sary Shagan test range where Russia's laser weapons facility was located and had once fired on shuttle Challenger. To the alarm of the astronauts, the space trooper trained her rifle out of the canopy of the Independence, using her rifle sights to bring the scene closer. Another burst of light flashed upwards at sharp angle from the planet, hitting and shaking the station. Debris sprayed slowly free from the white refuge from the harshness of vacuum.

"No, we're over North America. And the angle is too steep; it has to be from someone already in space. Who could be firing that?"

"I've no idea." More bursts of blue light flashed upwards at more frequent intervals. Rotating lights erupted all over the station.

 

Watchtower Control Room  
Same Time

Klaxons sounded all over the station, having howled into life moments after the first hit. Inoue looked up from a collection of after-action images of the damage caused by the Watchtowers first pass across the Middle East. Inoue was actually sitting behind a desk at the uppermost part of the largest of the cylinders that made up the Watchtower. The triumph of Japanese industry; more importantly it was a temple through which the words and wishes of God may be broadcast, to faithful and infidels alike. There had been much negativity since his announcement of the new world order, none though unanticipated and countermeasures had been put in place. The imminent destruction of launch pad LC39A at Cape Canaveral would give the Americans pause in their efforts against Inoue's initiative.

"What is it? The Americans are too late to stop us. We have beaten their little toy shuttle. They have no more with which to threaten us." His tone was dismissive. They had reached the endgame intact; there was only the glory to be won in His Name.

"Control. There is something ascending from Earth on direct intercept course."

"Shoot it down." Inoue believed in a firmness of resolve could conquer many obstacles.

"Control, we do not have a weapon we can target it with. Weapons is trying to deploy a missile downwards instead of..."

"Shoot it down."

"Yes Control."

There was a sudden crash throughout the station, the vibration shook everything. Fittings jolted partially free and loose objects were dropped, floating free in the cramped confines of the station.

"Control, lower module is compromised; the SBL is out of alignment and can no longer be targeted accurately."

"It looks like it's an Autobot ascending the gravity well." That comment triggered much murmuring across the communications network, a network in which all microphones were always open, rather than triggered when someone had a comment. Inoue believed in a system of total honesty. A system where every comment deserved to be heard.

"It is not an Autobot," said Inoue dismissively. "Autobots are cars and Decepticons fly, those are the rules. And there are no Decepticons left."

The comment was left floating in the air and talk amongst the staff paused. While Inoue may have believed, it was becoming clear that his disciples were wavering. The situation needed clear commands to stop their thoughts wandering. Recomposed Inoue barked at the microphone as the station shuddered again.

"Control to SBL control, leave the systems on automatic targeting and evacuate the lower module." There was no response from the laser control station.

"Control, Damage Control, the Lower Module is open to space and has been sealed off from the station." Inoue looked across at the weapons station.

"Have you destroyed the shuttle launch pad yet?"

"Watchtower is not yet in position, but I believe"

"Control, We have visual identification, it is Unit One." A monitor image relayed what the external cameras had picked up.

"Agent One, why are you firing on the station?" Despite his intentions, anger was slipping into Inoue's tone. Several faces turned to look at the person they had come to believe in. "Agent Shirakami! Cease this action at once! Junko, do not betray the path we have trod in his..."

"The girl is dead. Will you shut up and die already? I am sick to the sump of your voice." Realisation sunk in as he recognised the weak and feeble voice that had spoken a few times as a shattered yellow body had been brought into their the Colorado base. The voice of... Inoue suddenly lost it, leaping from his station, and diving head first for the SBL controls. Pushing aside the desks operator, he began slapping at the firing controls.

 

US Air Force Assault Shuttle Independence  
Same Time

The space based laser fired, a thick purple beam of coherent light flashing downwards from the flattened octagon shape formed by the casing. The beam disappeared below, to fast to track and with no idea what it might have hit.

"The laser!" cried Independence's pilot unnecessarily. Blue fire continued to track in from below. Whatever they had tried to hit it seemed they had missed. The damage to the station must have affected targeting.

"Look!" The USAF co-pilot pointed and the commando saw the gushing atmosphere blowing out of the stations lower habitable module. The terminator at that point swept past and in the sudden light of the Sun, the damage from the unknown energy weapon became apparent. The silver and purple squashed octagon shape of the space based laser emitter was badly out of skew and punctured. For the first time the crew could plainly see the pitted and faded Decepticon logo on the SBL's outer casing. Sparks flashed around the unit and the internal lights through the porthole had gone out. Below the ascending figure crossed the terminator and a large vaguely humanoid figure in yellow and black wearing the ever distinctive dark red Autobrand prominently on its breast plate became visible moving quickly upwards as the G.I. Joe commando watched the flying figure through her rifle sights.

"It's an Autobot," said the commando, her voice filled with the quiet awe of astonishment. The firing stopped and moments later a small puff of propellant appeared as the figure adjusted its trajectory, racing forwards from the planet on collision course. The yellow figure, struck the station in the main module just above the damage his weapon had caused.

The figure had recovered from the impact and was now physically tearing his way into the station. The damage was quickly catastrophic and the atmospheric venting of the main module soon ceased. Lights went out all over the structure. This was the first time the Joe had seen one of the amazing mechanical aliens in action. She found herself split between a semi-stunned reverie, her military training assessing the marvellous potential of these warriors from afar, but at the same time terrified that the thought of such power belonging to an authority and even a morality she could not trust. Despite three generations of Japanese animation of mech warriors, the reality was not of advancing military technology, but of an alien race, cleaved in two by their own civil war which for 20 years had threatened to engulf Earth. Now, with that threat at seemingly the lowest ebb since 1984, a religious extremist had found a way to exploit what had been left behind, and the threat interplanetary war was real once again.

The odd, blocky shaped shuttle drifted free of the station. Small puffs of propellant exhaust sprinkled across the side facing them as the ship tried to get clear. The Autobot turned its head and saw some of its prey attempting to flee. Discarding the cold lifeless hulk of the Watchtower that moments before had held the world to ransom, a pair of rocket motors on the Autobots motor fired. The main engines of the shuttle fired and the spacecraft and the alien retreated rapidly away.

The Joe and the two pilots exchanged glances for long moments before the senior pilot activated a radio.

"Houston, we have a problem. Oh bloody hell we have a problem."


	21. Destination

_"Unidentified vehicle on re-entry path, this is US Space Command, report your identity."_

_"Unidentified vehicle on re-entry path, this is US Space Command, report your identity immediately or you will be fired upon."_

_"Shuttle Resurrection on re-entry. We are in international air space and are heading for landing away from your jurisdiction."_

_"Negative Shuttle Resurrection. You will follow our instructions and land where directed or you will be fired upon."_

_"Space Command, we have a landing field awaiting our arrival. We have right to land according to our schedule."_

_"Shuttle Resurrection, we know who you are and what you have done. Your Nigerian landing facility is under attack and your runway has been cratered. The Japanese Self-Defence Force has been confined to barracks. The international community will not object to placing several missiles into your engines."_

_"Shuttle Resurrection, please respond."_

_"Acknowledged Space Command. What are your directions?"_

_"Standby please Shuttle Resurrection. Second inbound vehicle behind Shuttle Resurrection, this is US Space Command, report your identity."_

_"Second inbound vehicle behind Shuttle Resurrection, this is US Space Command, report your identity immediately."_

_"No."_

 

Unnamed Mountain  
Rocky Mountain Range, Colorado  
Outside of facility  
Same time

Far below, surrounded by the odd mix of drab and colourful vehicles of General Barbera's GI Joe taskforce, Optimus Prime and Skids stood beside the distraught Sideswipe, gazing at the faint light in the night sky above them. To the humans it looked like another shooting star breaking up in the atmosphere, but the superior optics of the Autobots, even in their compromised human constructed frames, could pick out more detail. They could see two distinct objects, drawing a line of fire across the night sky. The three Autobots became four as Ultra Magnus stepped over to join them, carefully picking his way through the scattered vehicles. Optimus placed a hand on Sideswipe's shoulder.

Barbera stepped towards the group, trying to get Optimus attention briefly. Optimus ignored her as Magnus turned and said something the other three did not catch. Barbera, who had had communication from the Air Force Shuttle Independence stepped back, choosing to give the Autobots a moment of solace. Magnus, his own emotions still in deep turmoil, put them aside, to give Sideswipe as much support as he could and reached out to grip Sideswipe's other shoulder.

Riveted to the scene above, Sideswipe felt the presence of his two superior officers, but could not acknowledge them. Despite himself he started murmuring, giving voice to emotions that threatened to engulf him.

"Don't leave me again, Sunny. Not again," Optimus and Magnus both increased their grip, as in the background, the other Autobots stopped what they were doing and looked either at the four Autobots or trained their their gazes upwards. Mirage retrieved his old snipers rifle, which had arrived in a batch of Autobot weapons in one of the GI Joe trucks. Lifting it towards the heavens he focussed the telescopic sight, picking out greater detail still. Using the minutest amounts of hydraulic pressure his frame was capable of, he tracked the scene above them. The scope on his rifle picked out tiny images, enhanced, and interpreted it stared through the cloudless morning at the sight far above.

"Unicron's ghost. He's chasing the shuttle into the atmosphere..."

"Optimus," Barbera interrupted, having given the scene before her as much patience as she could tolerate. "The shuttle Resurrection has been cleared to land."

"Where?"

 

Airspace over Nevada  
Flying westwards  
Same time

"Where?" yelled Chip Chase above the din of the C-17 Cargomaster's four turbofan engines. Two of the Binaltech facilities support trucks had been tied down by anchor chains inside the interior of the aircraft. The cargo plane rumbled across the sky heading westwards, guessing it might be escorted towards the more secure Air Force facility in California, rather than the more public runway at the Kennedy Space Centre. While a second C-17 sat idling on the ramp at Nellis Air Force base in Nevada, ready to support the first aircraft, or to head in another direction if Chase's guess had been wrong and the Resurrection was headed elsewhere.

"Edwards AFB. It was the only place large enough and secure enough."

"Colonel, go go go, we have to get to Edwards, if Sunstreaker's is still alive we have to be there ahead of them. Go!"

"Affirmative Doctor Chase. Attention Joshua tower, this is Air Force flight Bravo Tango One Fiver requesting immediate landing clearance. Imperative land ahead of inbound security flight."

"Negative Bravo Tango," crackled the radio voice from the tower at Edwards Air Force Base. "Joshua is closed until further notice."

"Colonel," interrupted the scientist, "get me a phone line."

"Doctor Chase?" This was the loadmaster Sergeant. With little to do in-flight he had stepped forward in the cabin area to assist the crippled scientist. The military were not known for their ability to comply with wheelchair access building codes. After patching into the aircraft's radio systems he was able to put in a telephone call. During this process, Chase's Blackberry chimed.

"I am taking this call only because I have been ordered to do so." The voice in Chase's headset belonged to the base comander at Edwards, the hostile sounding Brigadier-General McColl.

"Thank you for your time General, I realise..."

"Get to the point Chase." Chase re-gathered his thoughts. If McColl would not even refer to the Doctor's title then he held no respect for the contents of this call. Chase would need an alternative approach. The scientist began fiddling with his Blackberry, forwarding the message he had only just received and the potentially frightening image within.

"You do know we are experts on the technology wielded by the Transformer aliens?"

"What of it?"

"Is Edwards prepared for a Decepticon attack?" This made McColl pause. There was a rustling sound, presumably the General was placing his hand over the phones mouth-piece rather than press a mute button. There were a couple of brief muffled sentences then a rustling sound from the speaker.

"What is the nature of the threat?"

"I have forwarded to you an image from my Blackberry received from shuttle Independence. They captured images of shuttle Resurrection that you should see." Chase had seen the photos of Resurrection for the first time. The Japanese shuttle did not have the classic proportions of the Colombia class orbiters. It looked distorted slightly, and even chunky in places, as though something was trying to burst out of it at any moment. Its grey and purple colouring was also off-putting, giving at an unfinished look, like an Oldsmobile Cutlass yet to have a new coat of paint and only the primer was visible.

"I have your image before me now. Are you implying..."

"General, I do not believe this vehicle to be a threat while it is carrying passengers, but Binaltech believes shuttle Resurrection is carrying Decepticon weapons." The chill was palpable as the conversation went quiet.

"The Decepticons are all dead."

"How do you think a Japanese business consortium was able to field a space shuttle launching system, much less an operable space station?" There was a brief pause while the General considered.

"We will clear you in, tell your pilot to standby for further instruction."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Chase punched the air in triumph, but replied in a more subdued manner.

"Thank you General. Binaltech out."

"Doctor Chase, are we really in trouble?" The pilot wanted to know. It was not everyday a cargo plane flew into a potential fire-fight, maybe he was just looking for re-assurance.

"I don't believe we are in any real danger, but these people have struck me as very efficient grave robbers."

"Doctor Chase?" The Sergeant again caught the scientists attention, "We're getting some information forwarded to us about an apparently driverless red Dodge Viper reaching speeds approaching 200 miles an hour westbound on I-70. Utah Highway Patrol are asking for advice on how to stop him."

Chase sighed.

 

Airspace over California  
Flying westwards  
Same time

Kenjiro Suzuki had been a senior pilot in the Japanese Self-Defence Air Force three years ago, commanding a squadron of F-15J Interceptors. He had the best job in the world, but a small personal infraction while off duty had been noticed by command and the next status review had seen it suggested that he should apply for command of the JSDAF's Operational Conversion Unit. The OCU took fast jet qualified officers and fine-tuned them for piloting the F-15 before turning them over to the operational squadrons. Suzuki flew much less often than he had, and just as often as not it was in the back seat of the OCU's two seat trainer F-15s. It rankled and was disrespectful of the experience and skill he had accumulated over the years as a flyer and leader of men.

All for a nights indiscretion with a whore after taking one too many sakes at the cajoling of so-called friends with partners.

Suzuki had been contacted by a group and been offered an astonishing new position. He could not retire from the JSDAF quickly enough and began training himself on the operation of Japan's first bold step into a new dimension.

That new dimension had been astonishing in concept but in execution it had lacked. His nations first re-usable space vehicle had a very shabby feel to it. Upon closer inspection, it also looked the same. The crew ejection module had definitely been added as an afterthought. The vehicle itself was far from smooth in its finish and its paint did not feature the usual high-reflection white but instead had an unpainted grey and purply finish which did not look aesthetically pleasing or functional.

Aesthetics were not his concern now.

Since penetrating the atmosphere the radar threat receivers had chirruped constantly, an ever-present reminder that while the space vehicle was travelling faster than any earthbound interceptor could sprint, that attack radars, and their attendant surface-to-air missiles, were watching every kilometre Resurrection traversed. Resurrection itself was unarmed and he could do little other than do what the various air traffic controllers told him to do. Was this what life as an airline pilot was like? Airline pilot! Suzuki was going to be lucky if he did not spend the next decade in prison.

Inoue, for someone who styled himself as a prophet, was doing very little in the way of forward thinking. He had screamed at Suzuki after his initial accession to Space Commands's threat of destruction. Inoue may want to martyr himself but right now the pragmatist in Suzuki, emphasised by years of pilot training, and the images in his head of those that had been left behind on the Watchtower, reminded the pilot of his responsibility to those aboard the Resurrection.

Now that speeds had decelerated to approach speeds the Resurrection was attracting the attention of his former peers as first a pair of National Guard F-16 Falcons, then a pair of F-15 Eagles and finally a pair of US Air Force F-22 Raptors. Two that Suzuki could see.

Space shuttles on approach to landing fields were effectively gliders, so any deceleration had to be achieved through atmospheric manoeuvres - descending belly first, using the tiled underside to slow the speed utilising its most un-aerodynamic profile through drag, and performing wide S-curves across the sky, and lastly large speed brake fins at the rear of the large double-delta wings. Resurrection had slowed as much as it could and as much as it was going to. Suzuki and his co-pilot gazed out across the desert landscape of eastern California. Edwards AFB, built right at the physical edge of the desert had several of its longer runways, including the one used for shuttle landings, extending off base for kilometres into the hard-packed landscape.

Suzuki never once noticed Resurrection's pursuit and, perhaps through bureaucratic wishful thinking they were not informed by any of the air traffic controllers they spoke to. With its undercarriage down and its flaps fully extended, just a handful of metres from solid ground Resurrection and those it carried were fully occupied on the landing. A landing one had decided it would never achieve.

The impact was terrifying, like the hand of God had reached out shook the shuttle as it approached the wide flat stretch of concrete that cut across the Californian landscape. Suzuki had only moments to react and did the only thing he could. Yanking hard on the strap he activated the ejection capsule and the rocket motors ignited, tearing the cockpit and crew cabin free of the Resurrection. The uncontrolled shuttle landed hard, collapsing its undercarriage beneath weight it should have borne. The craft slewed and briefly threatened to tumble but the wide thick wings kept the remains level. Before the horrified eyes of the onlookers an immense fireball engulfed the remains of the shuttle as something flammable combusted, tearing a large hole in the rear of the craft. A pillar of smoke formed, billowing skywards like an immense arrow pointing to the end of Inoue's folly.

The ejection capsule crashed to Earth underneath a billowing collection of orange and white parachutes, the jarring impact barely slowed, so close to the ground was the ejection. Figures dazed, or unconscious from the impact, and weakened by the weeks or months spent in microgravity stayed in their acceleration couches, unable to move. All bar one. The very determination that had brought him to the point of godhood drove Inoue to his feet. Tearing at his space suit he stumbled shakily toward the hatch which had popped open the moment the capsule landed. Reaching the opening Inoue stared briefly out at the inflatable slide that stretched before him and he stumbled, rolling away from the last of his dreams, but committing himself to survival.

God would not abandon him. This was the moment of trial. The testing of his faith. He would stand strong, he would survive and he would not give in to the weakness of his body. His destiny would not allow failure. Rolling to a halt at the base of the inflatable slide, he clambered weakly to his knees on the concrete of the ramp that surrounded the edge of the runway as emergency vehicles raced down the runway, rotating lights and wailing sirens announcing their presence.

Another figure was closer.

Staggering free of the inferno just a few hundred metres away was an enormous demonic figure. Scorched black by the funeral pyre of shuttle Resurrection, all trace of his proud golden livery gone it was all Sunstreaker could do take each step. Horrifically misshapen, large portions of his body distorted or melted by the heat and friction of his descent to Earth and the explosive impact with the shuttle, hatred and pain drew him onwards.

"Inoue!" the voice was harsh and electronic, sounding like an extra from a 1980's science-fiction movie and sounding nothing like the proud, almost melodic voice of the artist turned soldier, Sunstreaker's phenomenal ego would not allow himself to succumb to his injuries. No human was ever going to get the better of him.

"Inoue!" the charcoaled figure screeched again. The Japanese businessman stood rooted to the spot by the vision of hell come to claim him, the heat of the blazing shuttle, the wail of the approaching sirens, the fierce glow of Sunstreakers two cranial sidevents, glowing red hot trying to vent the superheated gasses from within a Binaltech frame that was consuming itself. All over the din of four jet engines in the background as a C-17 rolled to a halt at the end of the runway.

There was a chance left for salvation. This godless abomination of a creature could be repelled. Inoue activated a control within his customised space helmet.

"Delta Four, activate."

Sunstreaker, heard an unexpected sound through the cacophony surrounding him, a sound that years of Cybertronian combat had attuned his senses to. The sound of imminent deadly danger.

The sound of shifting plates and turning gears.

Turning towards the blaze behind him, he could see the now not so surprisingly intact wreckage of the Japanese shuttle slowly gather itself and form into, of all things, a steam-powered locomotive.

Sunstreaker snorted to himself and smiled a smile his face could not longer portray. Before his spark gave out there would be a chance for one final dance.

The steam train shifted again, forming legs, a torso, arms, vaguely seeker-esque wings behind the shoulders. The figure stood shakily, grasping a sword in one hand that blazed with a Dinobot like flame from the coating of burning rocket fuel. Parts of the ghoulish figure hung lifeless from the frame, its flared, helmeted cranium sat awkwardly and drunkenly to its left side, as if unable to straighten. The exploded fuel tank left a gaping hole in its upper left torso and shoulder. Its first step looked as though it was one of those ridiculous string operated puppets. As much as those puppets were a parody of human life, Sunstreaker saw this advancing figure as a grotesque parody of the warrior he had once known as Astrotrain.

That parody of a soldier swung its good right arm, and Sunstreaker anticipating with the speed he was capable of failed to dodge in time as his body failed to act in time. Slowed by injury, deformity and pain, Sunstreaker gazed at the sword buried in his side stupidly, refusing to believe he could be hit by this Frankentrain monster.

Reaching back Sunstreaker flung a haymaker at the head of the Decepti-corpse that started all the way back in Arkansas and carried all the force the Viper could muster. The head sheared off completely at the neck and bounced twice before rolling to a halt. The Decepticon started withdrawing the flaming sword from Sunstreaker's belly, ignoring the plight of its own head. This was going to require some thought.

Sunstreaker fought to suppress the rage that built up within him once more, as this human again sought to control a Cybertronian. This creature had no respect for life, or anything it did not perceive as life. For someone who claimed to be a saviour of his people the hypocrisy stank worse than... Sunstreaker recoiled briefly as venting gases from Astrotrain's exploded shoulder drifted across his olfactory sensors, giving Sunstreaker the perfect comparison for bad smells.

He brought the haymaker fist around again and thudded it into Astrotrain's surviving breast plate, knocking backwards the Triple Changer and giving himself some breathing room. Astrotrain's torso was as thickly armoured as he remembered, but he also remembered he had to be more heavily armoured to protect the more complex mechanisms that complicated the Triple Changer physiology. An idea was beginning to form but was drastic to say the least. Sunstreaker reached for his sub-rifle, and trained it towards the grey figure and squeezed the trigger only to notice none of the charge lights showing and the barrel half-melted into a bent position. A swipe from the enflamed sword sheared the barrel off, leaving the weapon visually as well as electronically impotent.

Dropping the sub-rifle, Sunstreaker bent downwards, and swept his legs beneath the demented behemoth, toppling the grey ghost to the ground, but at the same time his hip gave way as something sundered inside. Keeping an eye on Astrotrain he gazed around, realising he had rolled towards the still burning remains of the pieces that were not reconstituted in this... thing. It lurched to its feet and swiped with the sword again, repeating the same unimaginative move. Inoue had obviously little combat training, what technique there was was quickly predictable. The answer was going to be painful. Rolling clear of the swipe, he again flailed with a leg, tripping his assailant and placed his right hand into a burning pool of fuel and held it there as Astrotrain crashed directly on top of Sunstreaker. With his left hand he held the beast in place as it thrashed, the Viper using his legs to prevent the monster from gaining sufficient purchase to attempt to stand.

Something was registering as someone shouting, but the pain from his hand was producing a roaring in his receptors that was increasingly swamping other sensory input. When he could no longer stand the heat he thrust his hand into the vented and exposed shoulder, using the hands heat to push through and destroy delicate mechanisms, severing neural connections from the control mechanisms to the actuators that controlled its movements. The thrashing ceased.

Heaving the twice dead carcass from him, his left hand fumbled for the sword, prising it from the dead grasp, and he used it to lever himself upright. Standing, and in excruciating pain from a number of sources, he saw human help was approaching rapidly. Time was now short or he would be prevented vengeance. He staggered grimly towards Inoue, using the sword as a crutch. He had almost reached him when his motor systems started to short and his legs failed. A point of weak ground beneath the sword tip failed and it sank in the ground upsetting what balance remained.

Unable to take another step the Autobot stumbled and fell, his twenty five foot length falling to within touching distance of the would be dictator. Sunstreaker extended an arm and reached out to touch the human who had sought to subjugate his will and place the mind of a human in control of his own body.

"I am not your puppet human. The will of others is not yours to command. Never again." Sunstreaker opened his fist and the superheated metal of the Autobots hand closed around Inoue. The Autobot could not squeeze his hand shut, but he did not have to. The heat from his fuel cooked burning hand was enough. The last thing Inoue felt was the incredible heat and a realisation that hell was every bit as real as had been predicted. Despite himself he screamed as his suit combusted, and the body burned away and melted.

Vehicles raced towards the scene. Human vehicles of all colours, yellows, greens, whites. Army trucks, fire tenders, rescue and recovery vehicles. Humans raced from the vehicles, medics, firefighters, Binaltech technicians, the distinctive wheel-chaired figure of Chip Chase appeared in the periphery.

As Sunstreaker's vision faded he heard a voice, not with his audio sensors, destroyed by the torture of the last hour, but with the radio link, a mental transmission from his fellows and a shimmering red Dodge Viper, no, it was a Lamborghini Countach blurred briefly into view. The image held for a moment, the Countach approached but it faded in and out of sight like a phantom.

"I'm sorry Sideswipe." His vision pixellated, slipped into monochrome and Sunstreaker crashed offline.


	22. Regeneration

_"Sunstreaker is critically wounded. Most of his major systems are flat lining, and some of them are so heat damaged I'll need a suit to get near them."_

_"The second C-17 has been launched but you will have to go with what you have. Sideswipe is still several hours away even driving as recklessly as he is."_

_"His spark is pulsing very erratically, so I doubt I'll have further opportunity to talk."_

_"Just do your best Doctor Chase."_

 

Reception Area  
Binaltech Facility, Nevada  
One Week Later

The last time the Autobots had gathered together at the Binaltech facility in Nevada for a ceremony it had been in the pre-dawn darkness and they had gathered to solemnly remember those lost in the fight for the planets survival against the Decepticharge and Shockwave had since been immortalised in stone.

Lining the footpath in front of the reception office of the Binaltech building were stone carvings, not bronze statues out of respect for the tremendous heat of the Nevadan desert, each six foot tall stood the mechs who had been remembered that day. Hound the explorer, staring towards a distant horizon. Windcharger the actor with his movie star smile, arms spread wide, attempting to magnetically capture something. Swindle the quartermaster, leaning casually, a slight smile one hand on hip. Prowl the strategist, serious, head turned slightly, carrying his rifle at port arms.

There was a space. One had been carved for Sunstreaker, but his re-appearance in a new frame had seen it removed, and another stood in its place, covered by a shroud.

A reviewing stand had been erected across from the Binaltech administration office, on which several formally dressed humans sat. Soliders mostly, in dress greens, blues or whites depending on service branch. The Governor of Nevada was there, along with the Secretary of State, acting in proxy for the President of the United States. The entire joint chiefs were present. General Barbera was there in dress greens, looking every bit the polished crisp formal soldier she was not, a detachment of her Joes as escort, unrecognisable in regular army uniforms. The military-civilian mix of Binaltech staff were well represented. Chip Chase, unable to climb to wheelchair unfriendly stand, sat to one side and was chatting to Wheeljack.

The Autobots broke from their groups and formed up into two ranks alongside the reviewing stand. Conversation ceased as the Secretary of State walked to the podium set up opposite the reviewing stand where Optimus Prime was already standing.

Optimus had said a few words to Ultra Magnus but had not spoken to the other mechs, although he had made a point of speaking to Dead End. Now seemingly restored, there was much the Stunticon did not remember of the last month. Wheeljack and Chip Chase had been very thorough in their examination of the black Dodge. They had declared him fit and aparently free of the influence of Decepticharge but neither could make a conclusive judgement. The Decepticon, whom he had not known previously, struck him as timid but ultimately good natured.

Secretary Barton launched directly into his speech and Optimus gave it the bare minimum of his attention while he composed his own speech. The statues of Prowl, Hound and Windcharger had been confronting, reminding Optimus of what he had missed while he had been otherwise occupied. The responsibilities he had let slip, and the damage he had caused.

This will be rectified. Secretary Barton finished his speech and invited Optimus to the stand.

"When we came to your world we were refugees and explorers seeking to revitalise a dying world and this planet was a world devoid of intelligence, ruled by the genetic ancestors of humans.

We found our races in collision when we did meet and we allowed our issues to dictate our behaviour here on your world, and because we, as a species, lacked discipline and respect, your species has suffered at our hand. Then when the very affairs that brought us here, took as away from your planet, we left behind technologies which upset the delicate social balance of your world. That imbalance saw the creation of the Watchtower.

Cybertron is now recovering, blossoming once more now that we have access to resources for our reduced peacetime population. Our destiny is no longer here on Earth but with our home. We will spend the coming months cleansing the world of our influence. Mirage?"

The gentle voiced aristocrat walked towards the podium. He had seemed old when he was young. It became an affectation he embraced and projected, giving his few words wisdom they did not always deserve. Optimus Prime had watched him grow into the age he projected. He looked thoughtfully at Prime for a moment then down at his hands. He had raised his hands in front of his chest and was tapping his left index finger against something unseen.

"I lost something, some time ago," Mirage said by way of explanation. "I have had it replaced since then. Twice since then." Without further comment a long piece of blue painted metal appeared from thin air in Mirage's hands, carrying the upside-down advertisement for a French tobacco product.

"This was in a secure facility at NASA. It took two days to get inside to liberate it. This should never have been yours." The blue Ford placed the errant arm from his past on the ground and accepted the heavy blaster offered to him by Optimus Prime. Without taking his eyes from his severed limb, the sniper fired at something considerably closer range than his skills were capable of. Taking a more careful aim he placed his right hand with the left and shot the arm again double handed. He added a further six shots to the first two, then handed the blaster back to Optimus Prime, who holstered it. The unrecognisable remains smoked echoing the product it attempted to advertise. Secretary Barton's Secret Service detail still looked seriously spooked, as if they were going to bustle the Secretary away at any moment.

"We will however not abandon Earth," Prime continued. "We will establish an embassy, although access will be limited in the short term.

Earth is now known in the greater galaxy, and at some point those races that we have encountered in the past will come here. In that event we will not leave humanity alone and friendless in the affairs of others, and they in turn will know the great honour of the friendship between our worlds.

Our borders will not be closed, but the interests of Earth will best be served when Earth has the technological infrastructure to participate as a fully-fledged trading partner with Cybertron." Optimus paused and turned to look towards the stony heroes lining the footpath.

"It is our lasting tribute to your planet that some of its greatest champions amongst us have been laid to rest here. Jazz loved the culture of Earth. There was something about the variety, the freedom, the celebration of life after some many years of war that liberated Jazz. He developed from a grim infiltrationist into a charismatic leader and innovative tactician," Optimus paused for a beat, "and into the Ark's unofficial morale officer. Each of us has a hundred stories, like substituting paint for the explosive charge in one of Wheeljack's experimental weapons or sabotaging the bridge of Megatron's base with confetti bombs. Shortly after we were revived in the Ark, Jazz taught me a lesson in leadership.

One of the first human concepts he learned was the birthday party, and without any knowledge of what a birthday signified other than it was used to honour a single person, he decided to throw a birthday party for me. He locked the doors of what was cargo room three, which later became the recreational room and threw me a surprise party. Full of my own importance as leader of the Autobot Army I had reclused myself from the Ark crew, deciding it would not be good for morale for the leader of the army to show a personal side in their presence. When I had started to leave the party Jazz quietly pointed out to me that I was no longer a leader of thousands but a leader of thirty and that as a small unit commander I needed to get to know the troops working most immediately for me.

Of those amongst the crew of the Ark, he received more media requests and received more fan mail than any of us, and loved back every bit of love sent in his direction. The phrase, larger than life fitted him well.

As important he was as a soldier, it is his personality and insight I will miss most. Goodbye Jazz, may you find the role of morale officer unnecessary within the Allspark. Until all are one."

The shroud shivered, and fell from the fourth statue, revealing Jazz, head cocked slightly to one side with a jaunty wave of his right hand. There were a few chuckles at the image. A group a rifles fired three times, the human tradition of the twenty-one gun salute.

"Jazz always placed his fellow Autobots before himself. So it is fitting that we turn our attention to those he held in such high regard. All of us who were held in thrall by Inoue's influence have not displayed any lasting physical damage but we are yet to fully quantify the extent of our ordeal. Swerve, injured previously in Colorado is well on the way to recovery and is here with us today. Smokescreen has regained the ability to walk, and has begun determining how best to fleece the Binaltech staff at poker. Ultra Magnus has requested some personal time and he will be granted as much time as he needs. Of the Decepticons, Shockwave and Astrotrain are dead. Ravage could not be saved, but Rumble is recovering and will be incarcerated here at Binaltech. Dead End was the focus of much suspicion throughout this series of events, but I can now state to all of you that he has been exonerated of all suspicion and is free to choose his own destiny and has my complete confidence.

Sunstreaker was wounded beyond recognition. His frame carried so much damage it was beyond repair. Binaltech's excellent staff, led by Doctor Chip Chase preserved Sunstreaker's spark and he has been restored to a new frame."

At that moment a garage door beside the reception area rumbled open. A set of headlights snapped on and the harsh bark of a highly tuned sports car engine echoed from with the darkened room. To the applause of a larg portion of the onlookers a gleaming bright yellow Lamborghini Gallardo rolled out of the darkened recess. The golden figure transformed and stood, embracing the scarlet figure of Sideswipe, who had broken ranks to dash across to his brother. Optimus looked towards Sunstreaker as if inviting him to add a few words. The twin snorted dismissively and looked at Sideswipe.

"Screw that, let's drive." The two warriors, golden and scarlet, transformed and raced by the reviewing stand caring not a whit for the dust cloud they kicked up. Not that Optimus expected anything else.

 

Unnamed Mountain  
Rocky Mountain Range, Colorado  
Abandoned Air Force facility  
Three days later

Daniel McLean loved working security. He was happiest just walking the perimeter during the night hours.

The incident at Verdana Chemicals had placed him in contact with a number of military figures, and one of those had found him a job, not just working night shift but at a remote location, where he could appreciate the woodlands surrounding an abandoned Air Force facility in Colorado. He was tasked with preventing members of the public from getting access to military equipment within the site.

McLean walked past the mouth of the tunnel that descended into the mountain behind him, and stopped when he saw a light within the tunnel.

"Thompson, this is McLean, is there anyone inside the Mountain?"

"Thompson, nope nothing in there, and there's no light, you just wanna excuse to pop inside for a look. Before you ask McLean, request denied."

"Sure," McLean clipped the radio back on its lapel when the light inside moved.

Placing a hand on his pistol holster, McLean stepped into the deeper dark of the tunnel. The light grew quickly and stepped up to a blazing blue-white intensity before disgorging a bolt of energy that knocked McLean senseless. His last thought before falling unconscious was that nobody told him to guard against anyone trying to break out of the complex.

Into the late evening light a red Mazda RX-8 rolled past McLean before the rasp of the rotary engine spooled up and the sports car raced away down the access track, searching for a cross road to then find an interstate, and a future. The car zoomed away, leaving nothing but an impression of the car, and the sharp purple emblem of a Decepticon...


End file.
